Rise of the Slaying Moon
by Wrecksauce
Summary: It seems that Ichigo cannot even die without complications. Thrown into Soul Society two-thousand years in the past, Ichigo will train in the Shinigami arts under Yamamoto himself- meeting some remarkable people along the way. Now the Gotei's enemies will have to deal with him too, and the Slaying Moon of the Seireitei doesn't take prisoners.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Hey guys! Just a few things I w_** ** _anted to say up-front before we go any further. This story is VERY AU. While I will try to keep most of the major canon plot-points intact, there are going to be some major changes revolving largely around the cycle of reincarnation (as some of you might have already noticed, Ichigo can't simple be 'born twice'), that said I would also like to point out that some of the characters may not be exactly the same, and they might not have exactly the same role as before. This is all down to the butterfly effect, but if you bare with me this story will likely (LIKELY) come to at least a satisfying conclusion. Also, just some clarification here: Ichigo has been sent just shy of two-thousand (2000, 2K, etc) years into the past, after the founding of the Gotei but before the opening of the academy. That said, he will likely not be the same person in the sense of personality, temperament, appearance, and wisdom by the time we arrive at the events of Canon Bleach._**

 ** _If you guys have any more questions feel free to either review or drop me a PM and I'll flush it out a little further._**

 ** _That's enough from me! On with the story!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach._**

* * *

 **Rise of the Slaying Moon**

 **Chapter one: Of Ends and Old Beginnings**

* * *

Kurosaki Ichigo had accepted some time ago that he was going to die. He had never quite been able pin-point when he had come to accept this, or what he had been doing at the time that was so dangerous that he had come to accept this it as fact. Perhaps it had been when he first met Urahara Kisuke and started training with him, or when he was thrown into the shattered shaft with his chain of fate cut. His favourite hypothesis was that he had simply thrown any thoughts of survival out the window when he had entered the Seireitei to stop Rukia's execution, and the acceptance of death simply came with that.

Regardless, Ichigo had known and accepted for a long while that death was poised to snatch him away, but he had always been of the conviction that he would face it on his terms. He would die heroically in battle, protecting his loved ones with a final Getsuga Tenshō, going out in a literal blaze of glory. Perhaps he would die of age with whatever remained of his family and friends crowded around, reminiscing about the good old days and laughing his last few moments away, a last confirmation that he had achieved, at least in part, what he had set out to achieve and had protected those who remained from everything sans time itself. Either way, he would pass on with a smile on his face, ready to greet whatever soul-reaper arrived first to pave his way to soul-society.

However, it seemed that the living world had wanted to kick him to the curb one last time, to humiliate him even in the last moments of this life by forcing upon him one of the greatest insults a warrior could suffer. A bad death.

He had been walking home from high-school, his last day of high-school to be precise, fully prepared to finally leave behind the monotony of classes, this particular mind-numbing grind that he had been forced to endure daily for the past six years of his life. Contrary to his good mood at the time, at least partially due to the aforementioned nature of that day, it had been raining heavily. Thick swirling clouds hung overhead, dumping gallons of water down onto the streets of Karakura town, making the ground slippery underfoot and creating puddles of standing water here and there. He had been walking past the river, as per usual, casting his eyes up to the sky as he often did during odd turns in the weather, when suddenly he had tripped, or slipped, or perhaps missed the pavement entirely. Perhaps he had been pushed by one of the hollows he could no-longer see, or by a vengeful spirit, perhaps Aizen himself had escaped from wherever it was they had locked him away and had simply wanted his death to appear an accident…

It didn't really matter, because the end result was not up for debate.

He had tumbled head-over-heels down the short embankment, whacking his head on first the soft earth, then on the harsh concrete of the river-bank itself, the impact had caused his semi-conscious self to bounce, and he ended up a good way out into the swollen, fast flowing river. Having had most of his wits knocked out of him by hard concrete, then having the harsh shock of freezing water overload his senses, his reaction time was reduced so drastically that he was dead, for all intents and purposes, before he realized what was actually happening. Before he realized that he _was going to drown_. It had been too late to do anything. Thus, just like that, he drowned.

Just like that.

Kurosaki Ichigo, Shinigami-Daikō, hero of the Winter War, slayer of more hollows then anyone could be bothered to count, had drowned in a river in the rain. Alone. Nobody had been about to help him, nobody could have hoped to overcome the current in order to save him, and he could no longer just slip into his Shinigami form to Shunpō away. Soul Society had stopped all contact with him since he'd lost his powers, so there was no Rukia, no Renji, no _anyone_ in the area that would leap to his aid when they sensed his spiritual pressure slipping away. Chad wasn't quick enough and neither was Inoue, Ishida was on the wrong side of town, Tatsuki had practice, he had recalled all of this before the end. So the next thing that came to him, just before death by a mere split second, was acceptance. Then death itself, ever poised above him, swooped down and carried his soul off…and that was it.

Just like that.

Unbeknownst to him, they had found his body some days later a few miles downstream. Kurosaki Isshin, real tears streaming down his face for once, had made a short speech at a small funeral ceremony as they lowered an Ichigo sized casket into the still saturated ground next to one Kurosaki Masaki. His few remaining friends and family crowded around and said goodbye, Yuzu cried whilst Karin tried to keep her promise and remain strong, Chad and Ishida had remained silent, lost with their own thoughts through the entire thing, then only saying a few words of respect before they parted company. Inoue had wept throughout, with Tatsuki stubbornly holding onto her and not letting go until she had been able to take the distraught girl home. Urahara had shown up, briefly, along with Yoruichi and his gang, but they stayed for only a short time before leaving again, because they knew and had long-since accepted death was not the end, and that they would likely see Ichigo again at some stage. It just wasn't that simple for the rest of them.

Meanwhile, Ichigo took some solace in the fact that he knew vaguely what would happen after death, and that Rukia and the rest would likely come for him in the Rukongai. He would become a proper Shinigami, and would finally learn how to seal his sword. Then work his way up to captaincy, proving himself so he could aim for Yama-jii's spot at the top when the old codger eventually stepped down. He would almost certainly retain his memories, so he'd know to visit the world of the living when he got the chance to see his folks and say 'hey' to his friends and mentors, likely slaying some hollows before he came back. That was the hope he'd had in both his head and his heart when he'd closed his eyes for the last time, had been the price of his acceptance. But it appeared that Soul Society too wanted to kick him down.

* * *

Ichigo opened his eyes to see a nearly cloudless blue sky, the only clouds present being almost laughably small and dotted around at irregular intervals. It was pleasantly warm, not too hot, and with a nice breeze adding some appreciated coolant to the air. All in all, it was a perfect day. Ichigo allowed himself to bask in this for a time, lying in the soft grass and staring up at the sky, so perfect was the weather that he had no desire to move and had certainly couldn't remember anything that required him to do so. He watched the tiny intermittent clouds drift lazily across his equally lazy vision, helped along slightly by the ever-present breeze, almost as if they would simply stop and hang where they were, were the wind not present. Overall, the sight was calming, and added to Ichigo's unexplained but not unwelcome mood. He was unsure as to how long he continued to doze there, his arms behind his head and his legs stretched out, drifting off to sleep on a few occasions only to wake up undisturbed some time later. By the time he reluctantly decided that it might be time to sit up, it was dusk.

A frown made its way slowly across his face as he took in his surroundings. He was sitting upon a reasonably sized hill overlooking a vast expanse of grassy flatland, upon which there were dotted what appeared to be settlements of some sort. Upon further inspection, Ichigo noticed that there were more reasonably sized hills far off into the distance, obscuring the setting sun; this was a valley. He tried to judge the distance between the side he was on and its opposite, but found that it was far too great a distance to measure in the dark. He settled on the conclusion that it was a very wide valley, and left it at that, though he did wonder absently at how a river could possibly come to be so wide.

Almost immediately to his front was a large looking house with a wall surrounding it, both made of lightly coloured stone. The numerous windows all had lights in them, and the soft yet warm glow of the candles in the hallways left trails over the walls and onto the grass beyond. Slightly further away, down the hill a little, sat a notable settlement with numerous, noticeably smaller, houses, a large number of which sported a smoking chimney which puffed smoke into the clear evening sky. Further out onto the plains he noticed small and occasionally large groups of trees, with a river creating a curving a line between them, sometimes through them, and then stretching off too far into the distance for Ichigo to track. He noted that the settlements situated themselves close to the river, but curiously they seemed to be as far away as they could possibly be from the trees while remaining within reasonable distance to the flowing water, it was a small thing to make note of, but from this vantage point Ichigo couldn't help but notice the rather large gap between the settlements and any notable woodland.

With this curious development, Ichigo decided his observation of the landscape was complete, and he slumped backwards again to gaze up at the sky. While on his back he ran a mental picture of the valley through his mind a few times, frowning when his mind came up blank whilst trying to find something familiar about it, a landmark perhaps, or a recognizable cluster of houses; he certainly didn't recognize those buildings that were closest to him. To his increasing frustration he could find no recollection of anything within the valley, and certainly he could not remember the hill he was currently laid on, despite having been there all day, it seemed. He came to conclusion that he was lost shortly after that, however he had no memory of how he came to be upon this hill in the first place, all he could remember was opening his eyes to see the semi-clear blue sky and everything since that moment. So he was lost, but he could not remember where he had come from, or… _anything_ for that matter. He knew his name, Kurosaki Ichigo, but that was just about it.

Now, some may have become scared or frantic at this realization, the only visible change that came over Ichigo was the deepening of his scowl and the narrowing of his eyes. Internally, he mourned the loss of his good mood as frustration crawled a sour trail up from his stomach, settling finally in his rapidly narrowing eyes and darkening features. He continued to lay on the hill with his eyes turned inward until the sky became noticeably dark and the air became just a little too cold to be comfortable. Indeed, it was a shiver that brought him out of his mind and back into the world, at which point he groaned and stood up. After stretching his arms above his head and shaking his legs to rid himself of the pins and needles, he began to walk. He didn't know to where he was walking, only that it was in a down kind of direction, down into the valley. He wasn't sure as to why he was walking either, he simply felt that he needed to do something other than sit on the hill, feeling sorry for himself and tracking the frustration as it crept through him.

About halfway between where he had been on the hill and the closest large white wall of the large white house, Ichigo's stomach decided that not enough attention had been paid to it and made itself known, grumbling loud enough to make him stop and scowl down at it as if it had done him some mortal offense. He put a hand on it as it grumbled again, louder this time, realizing for the first time that he hadn't eaten since...well since he'd woken up. Had it been empty then? Or had it been full? Half full perhaps? Regardless of this, he was certainly running on empty now, and he had no food. With this realization he also realized that he had no money with which to buy food, no place in which to store any food he might come into the possession of, no house in which to put _himself_ during the night, and no clothes other than the ones he had on at that very moment. He glanced down at them and sighed, they may as well have been rags, almost paper thin Hakama and a thin, brown, sack-like shirt.

After scowling at his garments for some time, he returned his gaze to the sky again as he tried to come up with a plan of action that might result in him _not_ sleeping outside. He figured he could try and find someone willing to put him up for the night in the town down the hill slightly, then he could try and find some work in the morning. However, the more immediate issue of feeding himself would only be solved if the one who agreed to put him up for the night had both the food to spare and the willingness to give it to him. Which would probably be quite a big ask, he realized with a sigh. He didn't want to take something from someone if they couldn't afford to give it to him, especially if those people were bad off enough for that to be the case. Some people were just _too_ kind, he hoped the people in the town had the sense to turn him away if they couldn't feasibly help him.

This train of thought eventually caused his eyes to land on the large house that he had observed earlier, now no more than thirty feet from where he stood. Taking a minute to weigh his options, he decided it worth at least trying before he started pestering the people in town, and began to make his way around the walls to what he assumed to be the front of the house. Predictably enough, there was a large, wooden gate on the side of the wall facing towards the settlement below. Flanking it on either side were two guards carrying what appeared to be nothing more than glorified sticks. Ichigo was more than a little sceptical about the stopping power of these items, by the looks of them they might have snapped if one of the guards were to lean on them too hard.

Ichigo approached them carefully from the side, trying to get the measure of them as he did so. From a distance they didn't appear to be anything special, but the closer he got the more Ichigo realized that this might have been, at least slightly, down the loose clothing they wore. When he got close enough, he realized that the both of them were actually fairly well built, and might be able to do a lot of damage even with the still flimsy looking sticks. So intent was he on getting the measure of them he didn't realize until he got rather too close for it to be considered coincidence that they had also spotted him, and were now in the act of quickly sizing him up. Evidently, as Ichigo continued to close the gap the two of them, they both decided he wasn't really worth much trouble and that only one of them was necessary to kick Ichigo back down the hill. They shared a brief glance, almost as if to decide which one of them had to go and deal with him, then seemed to have a telepathic debate as to who's turn it was.

With a resigned looking huff, the guard on the left of the gate seemed to concede defeat, and closed the remaining distance between him and Ichigo. He had his stick propped against his shoulder, and seemed to be completely at ease, though Ichigo didn't believe that to be entirely the case. The guard moved to stand directly between Ichigo and the gate, his free hand resting on his hip, and set his feet at about shoulder width apart, looking every bit the unmoveable man-mountain. Ichigo stopped walking, the guard's presence clearly radiated a 'don't come any closer' kind of vibe, and he considered simply turning around and walking away right then and there. However, his stomach had other plans, and kicked his brain into gear, he raised a hand.

"Ano-"

"Beat it, kid" the guard cut him off before he could get a second word out. His accent was gruff, and his face bore a scar from the right brow to the bottom left most corner of his nose, Ichigo had a feeling that messing with this guy might result in a few broken bones.

His hunger overrode him, however, and he pressed on. "I was just gonna ask if you had any food" said he, a hint of reproach that entered his tone, born of frustration. The guard seemed unimpressed by this and shifted his stance, allowing the stick to fall into his other hand to better level it at Ichigo.

"I said beat it" said the guard, his voice becoming firmer. Then it took on more than a hint of contempt when he continued, "Even if I did have any food, what makes you think I'd waste it on the likes of you?"

Ichigo bristled, some dormant part of him flaring to life at the sheer unfairness of that statement, "Oi! What's that supposed to mean!? We're both human!"

"Ha!" the guard barked, turning back to his fellow and gestured back at Ichigo "Get a load of this kid! Thinks he's some kind of philosopher." The other guard snickered along with his fellow, who then turned back around "Tell you what kid, seeing as you've made me chuckle, and made my night a little more entertaining, I'll let you scamper off to whichever hole you crawled out of without giving you the beating of a life-time." As he said this he walked a little closer to Ichigo, then he jabbed at him with his stick, laughing when Ichigo jumped back to avoid what he now recognized to be a wicked looking point. He felt more than a little stupid when the stick glinted in the rapidly disappearing sun, revealing its metal nature.

For a moment, Ichigo foolishly considered trying to fight back, but quickly decided against it. He was outnumbered two to one, and the spears gave them more reach than he could hope to overcome without some kind of weapon of his own. So, internally fuming with indignation, he took the guard up on his offer and walked away quickly whilst trying to block out the sounds of mocking laughter from entering his ears. He decided that he might have better luck in the town slightly further down the hill and made his way towards it, not looking back towards the large house he had just left behind.

If he had looked he might have noticed the boy in the window, watching his retreating back with a small frown.

* * *

From his position on the spread blanket, Ichigo scowled without holding back. The town had been a complete bust, with apparently not one person within the entire population who was willing to either give him either a place to stay, or any food to satisfy his grumbling stomach. He had marched around the town from top to bottom, calling at every single house without exception and asking the very same question when the door opened.

"Can you spare any food?"

It had made him feel pathetic, weak, and very, very angry. Eventually it became evident that this was having an effect on his quest as well, as after a while the doors would open and then shut before he could even get a word in edgeways. By the time he had made his way through the town and then walked the distance back up again it was pitch black, he was cold, and he still had no food nor a place to stay. He had completely failed on all counts. He had felt like screaming. He couldn't understand it, the buildings in the town hadn't looked all that ramshackle, in fact most of them appeared to be quite pleasant. All of them had a fire for warmth, he could _smell_ the aroma of food coming from within, so it couldn't have been that these people were that bad off, and yet not one person had allowed him in.

In the end, Ichigo had made do with an abandoned shed in the middle of a field –thankfully still with a roof and operable door- and went the night cold, hungry, and angry that he could feel the beginnings of desperation beginning to creep slowly into his thought process. His only solace had been that he'd located a small stream from which to drink. He awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck and sore back, hunger pangs, and the beginnings of a headache. All in all, he was not happy. His scowl was pulled down so low that any children he happened to encounter on his walk through town fled and the townsfolk generally gave him a wide berth. Not that it mattered to him particularly by that point. They could burn for all he cared.

Still, he tried his luck and asked around for work, and yet again anybody he asked turned him down instantly, then usually walked away very quickly, likely to flee from his darkening expression. Ichigo was inclined to believe that the reasons for his rejection this morning and the night before were the same, whatever those reasons were; he didn't really care. He simply wished that the people of the town could have had more heart. It seemed as if compassion no longer existed, or had it existed in the first instance? Ichigo had shaken his head vigorously at that point, those were not thoughts he needed at precisely that moment.

Eventually, he ran out of outlets to ask for work from, and he found himself fuming on the same side of town he had come in from the previous night. By this time it was getting on in the afternoon, and he still hadn't eaten, and so the hunger was continuing to increase steadily. He knew from some base instinct that it would soon reach a level that he couldn't tolerate, such was the rate of its development, and that if he didn't eat soon he was going to be in trouble. With the only fruit of his labour being a thin, worn out blanket he'd picked up from a side-street and kept with him in anticipation of another night in the shed, he started to think of alternative methods. His mind constantly returning to one particular thought, but at that moment he refused to go there, knowing that it would be hard to come back from it.

So that left him in the position he was now in, sitting on his blanket under a tree back near the centre of town, the biggest scowl the world has ever seen plastered on every inch of his face, begging for food, or money, or anything really. It was disheartening, to say the least, even with his frame of mind in a worse position it had been in the night before, every rejection still stung, every time he was ignored: another kick to his already beaten pride. It was almost like he was invisible, people passed him by completely unaffected by his pleas, nobody even spared him a glance, let alone any food or water. It was as if he didn't exist.

Eventually just gave up.

Whilst he was in the centre of town he took note of the market stalls that sat about with various merchants selling wares, as well as how open the stalls were both at the front and at the side. If the merchants were to be distracted by something, a customer say, it would be more than easy to simply sneak a few items off the side and make oneself scarce before anyone was any the wiser. By this point Ichigo was unbearably hungry, and the only option he felt was left open to him was the unpleasant one he had been trying to avoid for going on two days now. In the end, one particular pang that rid him of some of air in his lungs helped him make up his mind, and in the moment that followed he knew what he needed to do. It was no longer a matter of right and wrong. It was a matter of survival, honour be damned.

And so he hatched a plan.

An hour later he was skulking in an alley behind one of the stalls, concealing himself in the shadows but still peaking out enough to see the back of the merchant. His face was blank, expressionless. He had bottled up all his reservations and all his latent anger and frustration because this _had_ to work, otherwise he was out of options.

Eventually one of the townsfolk came over, browsing the merchant's stock of bread and picked fruits and asking of the origin of the latter. Once Ichigo was sure the man was adequately distracted he made his move. Staying low, he padded his way over to the unmonitored side of the stall, making sure to stay inside the merchant's blind-spot, and quickly hid himself in the shadow of the stall itself, using it as cover. Once he'd double checked the man was still engaged, he very slowly reached a hand around the front of the stall, eyes watching the nearby crowds for anyone who might turn and catch him the act. Carefully, he snatched two small bread roles, quickly retracting his hand again and praying he hadn't been spotted. For once, it seemed, his prayers were answered.

Ever-so-slowly, he crept out from behind the stall, making sure to pad as quietly as he had done on the way in, and slunk his way back over to the alley he had emerged from. Without even a backwards glance he began to run, disappearing off into the rapidly approaching dusk. He kept running all the way back through town, not stopping until he reached the path that lead to his shed, only then did he allow himself to hope that he had pulled it off, only then did he allow himself to look back; expecting to see glinting swords and angry faces but seeing nothing but the back walls of the houses he had come to despise so much.

Once back at the shed, Ichigo allowed himself to devour the roles. Not a single crumb was wasted, nor was a second taken to consider exactly _what_ he had done to obtain these rolls, and when he was done the nagging from his stomach ebbed slightly. Sweet relief.

It was dark outside now, and so Ichigo unfolded his salvaged blanket and wrapped himself inside it, taking whatever warmth the worn out item had left to offer. Before he fell into another very uncomfortable sleep, Ichigo came to the realization that he had now started down a road he could not get off of short of a miracle. This was his future. Stealing bread from merchants in a town he didn't know the name of in a land of which he had no recollection. Strangely, he didn't find this distressing, though it wasn't exciting either, he simply accepted this as reality, and decided to keep moving forward. That felt like the right thing to do.

Once the morning rolled around, Ichigo roused himself again and walked into the town to scout out the merchant stalls for whatever took his fancy, having had nothing specific in mind when he awoke. Then, having made a choice, he repeated the same steps he had taken the afternoon prior and made off with a selection of fruit and sweet bread, quickly vacating the area before any of the merchants were any the wiser. Once clear of any potential retribution, Ichigo took his spoils and began to walk, wanting a change of scenery from the inside of the shed. So he made his way back to the hill he had awoken on, carefully avoiding the large house, and ate there.

Once he had finished eating, and having decided he had eaten his fill, he slumped backwards on the grass and gazed at the sky. There were a few more clouds today, he noted vaguely, and the breeze had picked up slightly; though not enough to become uncomfortable. It was another comfortable day, almost perfect but not quite, and he was more than content to just bask in it, soaking the sun and seeing if there were any shapes to be seen in the clouds. He remained there all day, not caring if it passed as slowly as the clouds. He slowly allowed his mind to become blank, closing his eyes and relaxing into the soft grass, revelling in the sweet nothing that was now his thoughts. He allowed all the worry and stress of the previous days to leave him, all of the disgusted or wary faces that plagued his mind's eye fading to black. After some time in this meditative state he simply fell asleep, not waking from this dreamless slumber until most of the day was passed, at which point he wandered back into town, pilfering some dried meat as he passed through, and retreated back to his shed. He fell asleep again sometime later, huddled under his not-so-warm blanket. Not batting an eyelid at the act he had committed.

Thus his routine was established, he would wake in the morning and steal something to eat, then he would retreat up to the hill and scarf whatever it was that he'd pinched, not caring a jot about how he had gotten it. Once he had eaten he would usually lie and watch the sky for a while, fall asleep, or simply sit and observe the scenery of the valley for a time before heading back towards the town in the evening to steal something for dinner. Even after some weeks of this he was not caught, indeed it was as if the merchants didn't even notice that some of their wares were missing, even though he knew they did, greedy sods. Perhaps it more the case that they simply didn't care, maybe they were too well off to care. It was easy for Ichigo to take from them, regardless; and so he didn't care.

So he kept at it, altering his tactics only when necessary, taking what he wanted and retreating before anyone thought to look twice. He made no friends, he didn't need any. He didn't need enemies either, and so he kept clear of people as much as he could. That's not to say he never had any confrontations, usually it was a drunkard in the evening too sloshed to walk a straight line; those he usually tripped and allowed their momentum to knock them out. On a few rare occasions he ran afoul of someone spoiling for a fight, or simply looking for someone to beat up so that they could impress their friends. However, they led a soft life, and Ichigo lead a hard one. He had to be strong to survive, and so the pretty boys in the nice clothes all ended up on the ground, either with a broken nose or occasionally out cold. Kurosaki Ichigo aimed for the head.

As the weeks turned into months and the nights began to draw out, Ichigo realized that he would need to do something about the poor state of insulation in his shed. To put it mildly, it was starting to get cold in there at night, rather than simply chilly. So, in order to resolve the issue, he stole a thicker blanket. A strange course of action?

Not to Ichigo.

Very early on he had made a vow that he would not steal what wasn't necessary, not because of morals, but because it raised the chances of him being caught to a level he was more than a little uncomfortable with. So he made do with his shed and his blanket, eating whatever he could steal and whiling away the hours atop his hill.

Until, one day, something changed.

* * *

He was walking up his hill, munching absently on a bread roll whilst pondering whether or not it was time to cover the large hole in the wall of his shed. He considered stealing yet another blanket and some nails, if he could secure a thick enough something over the hole from the inside it would likely keep the worst of the weather out. It was almost worth doing, and would have been if he wasn't so sure the merchant with said blankets had caught sight of him pinching some meat the other evening, he was sure to be alert if he did. Perhaps it would be best to wait until he forgot, he looked old enough to have a decreased memory span.

Suddenly Ichigo stopped. There was something behind him, he was sure he heard it. He paused, straining his ears, the breeze was up slightly today and the noise was getting swept back down the hill. After listening for a moment more to make sure it wasn't coming from _right_ behind him, he turned around to use his eyes instead, and there running up the hill towards him, was a boy.

He was still a little way off, having just reached the foot of the hill, and at the pace he was going Ichigo gave him a good minute before he caught up. Ichigo used that time to size the stranger up. He appeared to be a similar height to Ichigo, though he was a little on the skinnier side, and from what he could see was dressed fairly well for someone from the area. Those in the town generally wore simple clothes similar to what Ichigo _had_ been wearing when he woke up, though to compare them now was possibly a tad generous. His clothes were now extremely dirty to the point of unrecognizable; despite his numerous attempts to wash them in the same nearby river as he frequently drank from. The clothes this boy had looked to be a touch more refined, they looked of a higher quality, perhaps even glowing a little in the sun. It made Ichigo frown a little.

It was then that Ichigo noted that the kid's hair was white. Not subtly so either. As the boy ran up the hill, getting ever closer, it caught the midday sun and Ichigo could have sworn he was blinded for a moment by the trailing strands. He noted also, once the boy was close enough, that he seemed fairly…clean. Most of the people in the town were at least a little raggedy in appearance, some more so than others (namely, Ichigo), but this kid was practically spotless asides from the fresh grass stains on his blue clothes. Which, Ichigo noted as the boy drew to a halt before him, were of an even higher quality than he had first thought.

"Wait…" the boy panted, now bent double before him with his hands on his knees, trying to reclaim his lost breath. Ichigo, now that his interest had been peaked, did so; continuing to munch on his breakfast in the meantime. As he did so he took a moment to ponder at the…strange way this boy carried himself. He wasn't swaggering, that much was for certain, and he had allowed Ichigo ample chance to inflict some sort of blow to the back of his head when he had folder over to catch his breath. Therefore he was either stupid, arrogant, or supremely confident that Ichigo wouldn't hurt him.

Noting after a while that the boy was still panting, Ichigo decided to break the ice; having had enough of wonder the boy's intentions. "Yo" said he casually, aiming for nonchalance. As if prompted, or as if he just remembered Ichigo was there, the boy increased his efforts for composure, taking multiple deep breaths through the nose with closed eyes, and after a few moments more he straightened up and smiled broadly.

"Hello there, Stranger-san. I hope I'm not intruding?"

Confused, Ichigo stared at him for a moment, then glanced about himself, at his breakfast, and back up to the boy with a raised eyebrow. "Why'd you be intruding?" he asked, incredulous.

The kid seemed taken aback, looking at Ichigo as if he had missed the obvious. "It looked like you were thinking about something" he explained, slowly, "Otou-sama told me that people deep in thought tend not to appreciate being interrupted." He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Ichigo's eyebrow rose a little more, this guy's behaviour seemed strange to him somehow. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Most interaction he'd had with other human beings over the past few months had been aggressive and involved decisive words and occasionally offensive limbs. This boy seemed thoughtful, now that Ichigo had gotten a chance to look him in the eye he noticed that they were kind, not even a trace of arrogance, even though he carried at least some confidence. It was a surprising change of pace for Ichigo, to say the least.

He eventually shook his head slowly, "Nah, you're good. Though I kinda want to know why you ran all the way up that hill" he said, gesturing with the hand not occupied by a bread roll.

The boy offered up another small laugh, and Ichigo decided that the kid was a touch shyer than he had perhaps assumed. "I had a reason, I assure you" he said, reaching for the small bag tied around his shoulders and fumbling a touch with the string which tied it. "I happened to catch you walking up here a few weeks ago" he explained as his fingers continuing to work at the string, "And, well excuse me for saying, Stranger-san, but every time I have observed you since, you always appear to be alone. You never seem to have very much to eat either and it appears as if you sleep…" he paused and looked up for a moment, pondering "…rough" he finished.

By this point, both of Ichigo's eyebrows had gone up, "Uhuh…" he prompted, waving a hand in a 'continue' kind of gesture. The boy laughed again, some of the previous nerves appearing to dissipate.

"Well I felt as though I should help. You see, there aren't any people around here that I've seen who have it as bad you seem to, and those in the town tend to look out only for themselves. So I highly doubt you've received any help from them" said the boy, grinning at Ichigo who scowled deeper at the still sour memories. The boy picked up the pace slightly, possibly sensing that he'd struck a nerve, "So I brought you some food" the boy opened the pack to reveal a wrapped bundle, underneath which sat some fabric different from the cloth of the bag, "Ah, yes, and I brought you some clothes as well. I think we're both about the same measurements, what you have won't serve you too well in the winter and I had plenty to spare."

Ichigo grunted appreciatively, parting the top of the bag slightly to get a better look, not quite sure whether to believe the act of kindness for what it was yet. He noted that the bundle was fairly large, and that the clothes within did indeed look to be thicker than those he was wearing, they were also of good quality. They would last longer than what he had before for sure, he took a moment to consider the potential cost of such garments, surely as much as his winter blanket might have cost, if not more. He took the bag from the boy tentatively, as if it might turn into some sick gag when he touched it, as if the kindness would simply disappear. It wouldn't be the first time, but Ichigo had a feeling about this guy, he seemed to radiate an aura of trust. Perhaps it was the sincerity that he got when Ichigo's eyes snapped up to make sure there was no malicious intent in them.

"I'm Jūshirō, by the way" the boy said, causing Ichigo to glance up again. Was it simply him being a fool, or did this kid, Jūshirō, actually give a damn? He nodded back, almost dumbly.

"Ichigo" he replied, looking back into the bag and picking out the bundle. He frowned when suddenly Jūshirō snorted, then began to laugh. "What? What's so funny?" he asked, frown deepening when the white-haired boy spluttered a little as he tried to force answer out. Ichigo bristled a little, wondering if this was perhaps the start of the punchline, perhaps the bundle was full of excrement and Jūshirō had finally given in and started to laugh when he picked it up.

He squeezed the package experimentally. It was hard.

Frozen excrement, perhaps?

"As in 'Strawberry'?" Jūshirō said suddenly, having managed to force out some coherent words. His eyes shining with mirth, but there was still no malice. It wasn't a look that warranted caution, simply one that indicated he found something genuinely amusing. It was then that Ichigo properly registered the question.

"No!" he exclaimed, waving the package above his head in his indignation, "As in-" Ichigo cut himself off with a scowl, he couldn't remember what it meant, "It doesn't matter! But it's not Strawberry! Oi!" he grew even more irate when Jūshirō dissolved into laughter once again, little did he know that this was due to his face becoming a particular shade of red.

"Gomen, Gomen!" Jūshirō made a placating gesture with his hands when he realized Ichigo was attracting ominous looking thunder clouds with his aura. He straightened up and schooled his face a little to rid it of the worst of his mirth, though it was still there, and extended a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance…" he waited for Ichigo to grasp his hand before adding "Strawberry-san" to the end. He laughed once again when Ichigo spluttered, a little more restrained this time.

"Aa" Ichigo muttered, once he had calmed down, "Thanks for the food, Jūshirō." He meant it as well, a genuine act of kindness was not something he had come into contact with since he had arrived.

Jūshirō continued to smile as they retrieved their hands, "Please, call me Jū. It's what my friends call me" Ichigo raised an eyebrow, "Jūshirō is a bit of mouthful" he clarified. It wasn't what Ichigo had meant, but he let it drop. He wasn't about to kick a gift-horse, neither was he about to turn down a friend, even if they had just met. Was that the extent of his loneliness? The loneliness that, until mere minutes ago, he had refused to even acknowledge the existence of.

Perhaps. Regardless, it was a welcome change.

"Well, call me whatever you want, I guess" he said, waving a hand dismissively. Now it was Jūshirō's turn to raise an eyebrow, "Not Strawberry!"

"Hai, hai. Ichi then?"

Ichigo scowled, making Jūshirō snort, "Yeah, sure. Whatever." At this point he turned and walked up the hill, making his way towards his spot. He listened to Jūshirō following him and decided not to stop him, the guy had gone to the trouble of getting this stuff out to him so the least he could do was not send him away. Besides, some company might be alright. Having been doing the same thing for so many weeks now, Ichigo hadn't realized that it was rather…dull. He enjoyed the peace and quiet, sure, but something in the back of his mind told him that he was not a natural introvert.

In the end, they sat up on the hill in silence for a few minutes and watched the sky. The quiet wasn't a bad one, Ichigo noticed after a time, he would call it companionable if had to assign a name to it. Companionable was not something he could even remotely associate with anything he had done, more welcome change he supposed. What was more, he felt at ease around this guy, ease which he hadn't felt since those first few hours on this very same hill. Sure, he had come back every day since, but it had never been quite the same as those first few hours. Maybe it was something about the way that Jūshirō treated Ichigo like an equal, and had gone to the lengths that he had to help him out. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that they had held a conversation that had been, for one party at least, fairly humorous, but not really at the expense of the other. It was friendly teasing, not intended to hurt.

These things were new to Ichigo, alien almost. He wasn't sure what to do with them.

"So" said Jūshirō, breaking the lingering silence, "Where exactly are you sleeping?"

"A shed" Ichigo answered bluntly, slumping backwards and resting his arms behind his head. This way he missed the startled look Jūshirō sent his way.

"A shed?"

"Yep" he waved a hand in the vague direction of his shed, "Didn't look like anyone was using it, I needed something to keep the wind away…" he shrugged "…better than nothing." A silence followed this statement, Ichigo glanced sideways to see a thoughtful expression on the other boy's face.

"So you steal people's wears and live in a shed?" said Jūshirō at length, his voice carrying the slightest bit of humour, telling Ichigo that he wasn't being accused. However, this wasn't what made him sit up and cast the other boy a look. "What? You had to eat somehow, and you're up here all hours of the day so you can't possibly be working. Logical conclusion: you stole it."

Ichigo scowled and flopped back down, "Aa…it's a living, I guess."

Jūshirō laughed, "Not much of one though. Seems awfully empty" he almost sounded contemplative, "I would probably go mad" he said, his voice was thoughtful, not quiet as such, but certainly a little further away. As if he were trying to think himself into Ichigo's metaphorical shoes, perhaps?

Ichigo shrugged, a little bitterly. "I guess you've got a lot to keep you occupied in that mansion of yours" it wasn't a question. Despite living the life of a petty thief, Ichigo liked to think he wasn't _that_ dense. The only house in the area with people in it that could possibly afford clothes like that was the big, walled house that sat slightly down the hill. Asides from that, if Ichigo squinted he could see a window on the near-side which looked out onto the hill, he assumed that was how Jūshirō had known where to find him.

Next to him, Jūshirō stiffened slightly. "Aa…I apologize for the guards" said he quietly, "I don't understand why Otou-sama keeps them around. If we must have guards at least hire more understanding ones…" he trailed off with a sigh.

Ichigo waved a hand at him, "Nah, it's not your fault so don't have to apologize. Besides" he gestured to the now empty parcel, "You brought me that, makes up for it."

He caught the tension leave Jūshirō's posture, though all he replied with was a quiet "Mm."

After this the silence returned, though it remained comfortable. After a span of what might have been minutes, possibly hours, Jūshirō stood up. "I must return to the house before the evening meal" he explained, brushing himself down, "If I'm late Otou-sama would become suspicious, and I would prefer if he didn't follow me about all hours of the day" he turned then, and began to walk back down the hill. "Will you continue to come here?" Jūshirō asked over his shoulder.

"Aa" Ichigo replied simply, sitting up in time to catch the sideways grin that Jūshirō back at him.

"Then I'll see you soon" and with that, he departed properly. Ichigo watched his retreating back for a moment, then slumped down onto the grass for a quick nap. Hopefully he could sleep away the rest of the daylight before having to return to the shed, the food Jūshirō had given him having erased the need for him to steal anything else today. That night, once he had returned to his shed and crawled under his thicker blanket, he got the distinct feeling that life might become a little more interesting with this rich kid about. Strangely, though, all that thought did was make him grin.

* * *

In the months that followed Ichigo saw Jūshirō nearly every day, and the two struck up a steady friendship. Using the clothes his new friend had lent him, Ichigo survived the winter (though it wasn't as bad as it could have been) out in his shed with his warm blanket, and managed to continue his usual routine of stealing breakfast and making his way up to the hill. Then, either straight away or after an hour or two, Jūshirō would emerge from his home and would join him; usually carrying a modest amount of food from his family's kitchens to save Ichigo from having to steal something for his dinner. They would then sit up on the hill and while away the hours either gazing at the sky or discussing trivial matters, usually revolving around what life was like as a minor nobleman, tales of various escapades the two of them had undertaken, and other such unimportant things. Ichigo personally had little to discuss, he had not been on this plain of existence for nearly as long as Jūshirō had, and as such had fewer tales to tell.

Luckily Jūshirō didn't seem to mind this at all, and was more than happy to regale Ichigo with stories of his near thirty years of existence. Various mishaps with rebellious noble friends, entertaining recollections of some of his father's servants mincing their words in his presence and so forth; despite the tame nature of these stories, Ichigo found them entertaining enough. It was also through Jūshiro that Ichigo began to learn more about this world that he now inhabited. For instance, he now knew that this world was called 'Soul-Society' and was where the souls of the departed from the living world came to after death. He also learned that the valley they were in currently was a part of the Rukongai, specifically the First District of Northern Rukongai, and that there were eighty of these districts in Northern Rukangai alone, with eighty more to the south, east, and west. To their direct south was a large, walled area known as the Seireitei in which the five great noble houses, the central fourty-six, and a rather odd sounding military organization known as the Gotei Thirteen made their home.

When asked about the Gotei, Jūshirō merely shrugged. "Otou-sama tells me they're simply glorified thugs. He says they exist on the pretence of protecting the Seireitei, but in reality they're battle-craving madmen that bring death and chaos wherever they go." He hadn't said much more on the subject. Ichigo did manage to glean from his friend that the Gotei, or Shinigami (as he preferred to call them), exterminated hollows; tortured souls that had something from either this life, or their previous life that prevented them from moving on to re-join the cycle of reincarnation. By exterminating them, a Shinigami purifies them, washing away the sins of the Hollow and leaving only the deeds of the human soul behind to be judged. Beyond that, Jūshirō was unsure as to the function of the Shinigami, and said that if Ichigo was still curious he would ask his father for more information. Ichigo had simply shrugged.

On the subject of his own family, Jūshirō had explained that he was of a lesser noble house that had, at some point long in the past, been a part of the Kuchiki clan; one of the five great noble houses. His house had a tiny slither of the political clout the Kuchiki's had, as their status was that much lower, and as such they had a fraction of the land and less than a fraction of the prestige; Ichigo found most of the explanation for this odd, and didn't press further. He did learn, however, that Jūshirō was the named heir of the Ukitake clan and would inherit the responsibilities of his father upon his death, "But that won't be for a very long time!" Jūshirō had exclaimed, waving his hands nervously, "Otou-sama will be alive for hundreds of years yet, I'm sure!" As it turned out, souls in Soul Society were nigh on immortal, or as close to it as one might get without unreasonable amounts of what Jūshirō referred to as 'Kidō', and thus could live for thousands of years without aging as much as one might expect.

Ichigo decided that if he was to live for thousands of years as a petty thief, he might actually end up insane.

They covered all of this and more over the course of months, the conversations that they had being slow and ponderous with serious talks being few and far between (dependant largely on Ichigo's mood), but by the time the summer rolled around once more Ichigo finally felt as if he had a grasp on this place. It no longer felt as if he were floundering about in the dark, trying desperately to find some kind of hand hold to grasp on to in a desperate attempt to stay centred. With the revelation on life-spans, Ichigo had also realized that he couldn't simply live as he was for ever, he had to find something to fill his time with properly, some kind of purpose. Otherwise the grip that he had found would slowly erode away, and he would once again become lost at sea, he was sure that Jūshirō would not be able to hang around with a thief such as himself for ever, so Ichigo was either going to have to find new friends, or he was going to have to get his act together.

He voiced as much to Jūshirō, with some careful omissions, one day towards the end of June a year after he'd first found himself in Soul Society. His friend adopted a thoughtful look, a finger tapping his nose as he gazed up to the sky with a slight frown. Then he glanced back at Ichigo, as if analysing him, sizing him up as if he were an opponent. Then, with a smile, he said "I have an idea" and had promptly run off towards his house, ignoring Ichigo's startled 'Oi!' and disappearing from view shortly after. He didn't come back that evening. Ichigo had even stayed up there later than usual to make sure he wasn't going to return. Eventually had just gone back to his shed feeling strangely nervous.

The next day, however, brought a surprise.

* * *

Jūshirō joined him on the hill late on in the morning, as per usual, but this time there was something different about the pack he had slung over his shoulders. It was very much _longer_. Ichigo raised a sceptical brow as his friend reached him, dumping the bag on the floor with decisively less grace than Ichigo was used to seeing. His eyebrow rose further when the bag hit the floor, emitting a sharp _clack_ sound. Jūshirō himself lowered to the ground in a more usual fashion, crossing his legs and fixing Ichigo with his usual grin as he began to open up the bag.

"Sorry for running off like that yesterday" he began, sincere even if the grin never faltered. "But I got detained by Otou-sama before I could sneak back out again" Ichigo nodded, watching as Jūshirō started to pull something out the bag. Then his eyes widened in surprise as his friend handed him, hilt first, what was decisively a sheathed Katana. The scabbard was a deep purple, and had a simple pattern up both sides that Ichigo guessed was a depiction of the wind blowing autumn leaves, at the top there were two pieces of golden string, wrapped around and knotted neatly. Reverently, and not without an encouraging nod from Jūshirō, Ichigo gripped the hilt and slowly drew the blade. It was a simple, singled edged affair, but to Ichigo something about it felt right, the way the hilt sat in his hand was familiar; like and old friend. The hilt was coloured purple and white, and the guard was a small depiction of the decoration on the scabbard, from a small loop at the base there was tied a single purple ribbon that fluttered about slightly in the wind.

Ichigo stared at the sword for a while, then on a strange whim he experimentally adjusted his grip so that both hands were wrapped around the hilt and, standing up, swung it over his head and down in a slow chopping motion. Jūshirō watched him, his expression holding a kind of closed curiosity, as Ichigo performed a number of these swings before falling back into a loose stance. "Have you held a sword before?" he asked suddenly, his curiosity growing all the more when Ichigo jumped and met his gaze, almost as if he had forgotten Jūshirō was there.

At length, he lowered the sword, switching it so that it lay in his outstretched palms again. No, he could not remember ever holding a sword before, and yet…and yet it felt distinctly as if he had. There was something so achingly familiar about holding the sword, his hands finding comfortable positions on the hilt and his feet moving to a stance almost instinctively, the overhead swing feeling not at all awkward or new, but as if he had done it before; numerous times in fact.

He looked up at Jūshirō, who now wore his curiosity more openly now. "…No" he said slowly, and that was the truth of the matter. Wasn't it?

"Sou ka…" Jūshirō seemed unconvinced, he stepped closer to Ichigo, "Take your guard" he instructed suddenly, and Ichigo instantly adjusted his grip and fell into a ready stance. Jūshirō made a noise that sounded vaguely like surprise, at which point Ichigo realized what he had just done, he found this whole situation decisively weird. He wasn't a fan of weird. He got over his shock quickly when his friend started to walk a circle around him, inspecting every aspect of his stance and occasionally correcting something. His right elbow went a little closer to his body, his knees became slightly more bent, his back straighter, and his front foot moved slightly further forwards before Jūshirō was satisfied.

"This" he explained "Is your basic stance. When you take your guard this is the stance you should be in, from there it is easy to adapt to almost any attack an opponent might send at you. Be sure to memorize it, it's very important that you can fall into that stance quickly in order to better respond to attacks. Now", he tilted Ichigo's sword upwards slightly with the scabbard of his own, "I'll walk you through the first Kata."

Jūshirō drew his own sword, falling into his stance with practiced ease. "Watch me carefully" said he, and with that he brought his sword up above his head and took a step forward, then he quickly took a step back, as if avoiding an attack, before striking downwards with his sword while at the same time stepping forwards again. He held his position for two seconds, with the blade pointing up at an angle, then drew his sword back up again to the position it had started in. He proceeded to repeat the movement once before falling back into the ready stance, after a second he straightened up and sheathed his sword. "Now repeat what I just did, if you feel you need to do it slowly do so", he then took a step back and watched Ichigo expectantly.

Realizing that this had been his cue, Ichigo took a breath, closing his eyes and recalling what he'd just seen in his mind's eye. He remained stock still for a moment more, then he launched into an almost exact copy of what Jūshirō had just done, falling back into a ready stance once he'd completed the set twice. Beside him, Jūshirō nodded approvingly, "Good. Remember to keep your back straight" said he, then made a 'continue' gesture with one hand, "Go ahead and keep going, bearing what I said in mind. Keeping your posture allows for faster movement with your arms, making your strikes more decisive."

He watched Ichigo as he continued with the Kata, a slight frown appearing on his face as his friend continued to show something more than simple beginner's confidence with the sword. His posture was just a little off perfect, but that wasn't the issue. What caught Jūshirō's attention was how relaxed his friend appeared, there was no tension and he didn't appear to be afraid of his sword at all like some beginners could be. On the contrary, he appeared confident, his movements were decisive and steadily increasing in speed; it was quite peculiar.

"Ne, Jū?" Ichigo called, still running the movements, "Why exactly am I doing this?"

Jūshirō grinned, "Well, you said yesterday that you felt as if you needed something to do. Luckily for you, it happens Otou-sama is looking for a new gate guard" Ichigo paused in his movements to fix Jūshirō with his full attention, "I believe the old guard fell afoul of Nee-chan, and as such he was quickly told to leave." Ichigo nodded, not quite comprehending what it was his friend was saying at first. Then, it hit him. It was as if all the wind had left, such was the weight of what his was saying.

His jaw had dropped comically, he managed to get a quiet "Jūshirō…" before he fell silent again.

"I've informed Otou-sama that I know someone who might be adequate for the position" Jūshirō continued, "You have an interview in two weeks."

Ichigo was almost literally flawed. Words failed him, was he not destined to be a thief forever? Was this the miracle that would take him off that road? It had never really occurred to him that he was capable of any different, a dead end future seemed assured. Now this?

"Well?" Jūshirō questioned, snatching his attention back from his thoughts, "You'll get accommodation and two meals a day as payment, in exchange you pledge yourself to Otou-sama and my family in service." Ichigo noted how serious Jūshirō's expression became at the last part, trying to convey the gravity of the commitment, how he couldn't simply back out once he accepted. However, it was not an opportunity he could afford to ignore, it was the opportunity for a fresh start, a clean slate, and here was Jūshirō simply handing it to him; no questions asked. It was also a decision he couldn't rush, Jūshirō had given him the two weeks as an out, he realized; if he decided against it before the interview there would be no hard feelings.

"Aa. I'll definitely think about it" he said eventually, fixing his friend with what he hoped conveyed his sincerity, "I mean it, Jū, Domo arigato."

Jūshirō simply smiled in response, looking a little relieved. Ichigo continued to go through the motions until dusk, now with more effort. When he realized that the sun was rapidly setting, he sheathed his sword and handed it back.

"Your old man might get suspicious if you don't go back soon" he explained when Jūshirō looked at him questioningly.

Jūshirō glanced about him, noting the fading light. "Ah, thank you for reminding me" said he, sliding the swords back into the bag and tying it at the top, though not before he handed Ichigo the food he'd brought with him. His friend sent him the usual nod of thanks that Jūshirō had long since come to expect in place of any verbal communication, and with that he began to make his way down the hill. Calling "We'll carry on tomorrow!" over his shoulder as he went.

Ichigo watched him go with a frown, he hadn't said it out loud because he was unsure of it himself, but when he had been going through the Kata it had felt…easy. He knew he had been doing it right because Jūshirō had said very little all the while, only occasionally telling him to straighten his back again or not to bring his sword down too far. Even with these few mistakes, Ichigo could not shake the feeling that he had _done this before_. The sensations felt all too natural to be beginner's luck, and the notion that he was simply a natural swordsman didn't quite feel right to him. Even as he retreated back to his shed that night his thoughts were moving quickly, he was certain he had never been anywhere near a sword before, he had only been in Soul Society for a year and his memory wasn't that bad. Perhaps he had retained some sort of instinct from his past life? He assumed that he must have had one, seeing as he wasn't technically 'born' in this world. If that was indeed the case, he would never know. Jūshirō had told him on a few occasions that people in Soul Society rarely ever remembered their past lives, and if he didn't remember it when he woke up he certainly wasn't going to remember it a year down the line.

Luckily, Ichigo had something to work towards now, something to look forwards to. He wasn't sure if he was going to accept yet, but he was fairly certain that he would, and even if not he was going to give the sword training is all until he decided for sure. He smiled a touch, Jūshirō certainly had gone the extra mile for him since they'd met, and he was truly grateful for it. Although he was fairly sure that was just the type of person his friend was.

So when he huddled in his blanket that night, the thin summer one this time, it was with a sort of excitement that was totally new to him. Perhaps this place wasn't so bad after all, he thought.

* * *

 **Next Chapter will be posted on the 31st of January**

 **Edited: 25/01/2016**


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_ Hey folks, second chapter here for you all. I know I said Sunday but I actually had to rewrite this chapter as my computer crapped out on me when I was _oh so nearly_ done. Also, I know I got some reviews after the last chapter (Thank you all!) and I am also aware that I haven't replied to them yet. That's because I feel that I should let everyone know the answers to them, so I'll answer them in the authors note.**

 **Therman111, Tahaku, sir636, and guest: There will be a pairing and no it won't be either Rukia or Orihime, simply because that just won't work. He'll be a different man by the time they meet, and also a couple thousand years older. I'm not sure who the pairing will be, though I will likely have one. Maybe Retsu? Maybe one of the Kotetsus? Might be an OC, if I can think of a good one.**

 **jcampbellohten: Thanks for the feedback! He will be regaining his memories at some point yes, though it won't be for a little while yet...a couple of thousand years to be vaguely exact. Of Course it was Jūshirō! Who else? Everybody's favorite Taicho! As to the cycle of souls, there will have to be some changes yes. Kaien, for example, would be difficult to explain, as would another Ichigo. As to the latter, Ichigo simply will not be born a second time, as he is still alive, and it will likely be Karin or Yuzu (possibly Tatsuki if I feel like it) that will receive shinigami powers. As for Kaien, I'm not sure. Maybe Kukaku in his place, we know she was a shinigami at some point.**

 **sir636, MerryKitten: Shunsui will be appearing very soon! Next chapter? Who knows...as for Ichigo's Zanpakuto spirit, I have something special planned for that. More on this to come...**

 **Tahaku: I'm thinking more along the lines of friends and comrades, Ichigo will be a Taicho in his own right (in all likelyhood) so they'll be equals in all but social status, and I never thought Juu was one to care about that too much.**

 **Accursius: Interesting idea, I was thinking either a cycle of souls mess up or Urahara being...Urahara. That might make more canonical sense, however. Will consider.**

 **Sadistic Avacado: My thinking was that, as Jūshirō has spent all of his life around powerful souls, he wouldn't know any different. It will be addressed later on.**

 **Harem-monger sama (amazing name dude), and all the guests that reviewed: Thanks so much guys! I'm glad you all liked it!**

 **Just to warn you all before I let you guys get on with ya reading, I struggled a little with the pacing on this chapter so please bear with it. The next chapter will be easier to write because Ichigo's life will be a touch more interesting from here on in.**

 **But yes, I'll shut up now. Thank you all for the follows, favs, and reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: I really don't own Bleach. Honestly.**

* * *

 **Rise of the Slaying Moon**

 **Chapter Two: Oddities**

* * *

Ichigo awoke the next morning feeling…different. He couldn't quite place a finger upon what it was, but he felt distinctly as if something had changed. Standing up, he confirmed that all of his limbs were present, and he was still in his shed. It was hot out, as it generally was in the summertime, and it didn't appear as if any freak rain had occurred in the night. So the weather wasn't to blame for this strange change, and it certainly wasn't anything physical; Ichigo having checked for the latter numerous times already.

What it certainly _was_ , was strange.

He had no memory of waking up in the night, and he was sure that he would have noticed if someone had come in and done something to him, or at least he would have noticed the result in the morning. So it wasn't that. Ichigo strained his mind, trying to find something that might indicate what this change was. After some minutes of this he decided that the answer wasn't going to simply reveal itself, and went to get breakfast instead. Upon exiting the shed Ichigo found that it was _hot_. Not your normal, everyday summer sun kind of heat either. No, this was the kind of heat that left blisters and reddened skin and made the elderly and sick feel even more so. It pressed down on him like a very thick, very heavy blanket and robbed him of some of his ability to breathe, leaving just enough for him to plod along towards town.

Whilst walking, he noticed that he was surrounded by waves in the air. At a first glance one might not see them, but on a further inspection or with the suspicious narrowing of the eyes the observer would notice them. The easiest way to visually describe them would be 'distortions', as they seemed to make everything on the side opposite to the observer incredibly blurred and out-of-focus; as if on the other side of a very smudged window. For someone seeing these for the first time it would probably be quite disconcerting, the way that solid walls began to flex and move around as if they were made of cloth that was getting tossed about in a strong wind. For Ichigo, it was simply the cause of a quizzically raised brow and the unasked question: 'Where did this heat come from, all of a sudden?' It hadn't been this hot the previous day, nor the day before that. Indeed, Ichigo struggled to think of any time at which the temperature had been so brutal.

His view of the waves was then rudely obscured by the houses, and Ichigo was forced to break his observation off. As he trundled through town though, Ichigo noticed something else. His stride. It was longer. Ichigo observed this for a time, then shrugged and continued to walk; reasoning that he had perhaps had a growth spurt at some point and had just now noticed it. Instead, he turned his attention to the day at hand. There had been no revelation concerning his ease with a sword during the night, but Ichigo couldn't help but feel some kind of anticipation towards it, perhaps even excitement. Whatever the feeling was, it span around in the pit of his stomach like a hyper child at a birthday party, bringing his mood dangerously close to 'good'. Perhaps that was what this feeling of distinct change was, Ichigo had never been excited about anything in his…well…his life, he guessed. He had never had any reason to be, for what was there to be excited about in the life of a petty thief? He had felt at ease, had felt relaxed, angry, frustrated, desperate, cold, hungry, tired, numb, hot, thirsty, light-headed, satisfied, humorous, and a whole host of other little emotions…but never once had he been excited. Ichigo frowned as he walked. It was nice that _something_ was starting to happen. Since Jūshirō had first appeared not much had changed, the routine remained largely the same and adapted only slightly to allow for one variable. Asides from that nothing had changed since the moment he'd arrived here.

Perhaps, he mused, it was Jūshirō's offer that was to blame for this sudden outburst of emotion. It had given him a goal, he supposed, a purpose to fulfill. In fact, he realized that he had never really had one of those either; not any that meant anything anyway. He thought about this for a moment. Having a goal, something to aim for, was good, he decided. A goal meant that he was working for something, and working for something meant that he was up and about, planning how he was going to get to that goal and then putting that plan into action. He liked plans as well. A plan meant a structured approach, deciding whether that approach was head on or from the side, whether to move slowly and cautiously or charge in screaming bloody murder. Having a plan meant he could have contingencies, back up plans to put into action when the main plan failed, or hit a snag that was not workable-roundable.

A goal and a plan on how to achieve it. Ichigo decided that he liked these things immensely.

Perhaps this was responsible for the strange feeling he had felt that morning. Something in the back of his mind agreed with him, and so he added that to the list of strange things, along with 'excitement'. He was also beginning to notice changes in the world around him as well, not physical changes mind you. What Ichigo was seeing were changes in his own perspective, as if life had suddenly been injected into everything, a needle straight to the vein of the world. The edges had become sharper and the colours were bolder, the sounds were distinguishable and varied in pitch and timbre, fighting for the attention of his suddenly sensitive ears. He realized that he could smell the market place before he saw it, all the spices and meats, fresh picked fruit mixing with the smell of merchant's sweaty armpits. Imagine an artist adding colour to an already there outline of the world, but sped up a hundred times. That was the kind of experience Ichigo had just had. His blinkers had been removed, the cotton taken out of his ears and retrieved with tweezers from his nose; his senses had come alive.

And all it took was the realization of a goal and the formulation of a plan, mixed with just a pinch of anticipation.

Crazy, you say? Over-the-top exaggeration?

Maybe.

Or maybe that was all it took for Ichigo to finally feel alive. To emerge blinking into his own body from the deepest corner of his mind. _To feel in control_.

And what was this plan? This coveted idea that had lifted his spirits so?

Well, that was simple. He was going to become a guard, and to do that he was going to train. A goal, and a plan on how to achieve it. Kurosaki Ichigo had also decided that he _really_ liked simple, as a concept.

So Ichigo took this goal and this plan, applied his ample drive and determination to it, fuelled it with his desire to _not_ be a thief any longer, and the result was not something that this world was yet ready for. That morning, he stole his breakfast of sweet bread and fruit (ignoring the armpits) in under thirty seconds; a personal record. He was gone before the merchant manning the store had even fully removed his goods from their crates, the poor sod. He then used his newly found long stride to vacate the area before anyone was any the wiser, navigating the backstreets with attentiveness this time rather than absentmindedness. He avoided the path that led behind the tavern, not wanting to soil his feet with bodily fluids (or trip over the inebriated), and actually watched where he was walking to the ends of avoiding the hapless child he usually barrelled into around a certain corner that led between the general store and the butchery. Said child was actually so stunned he fell over on his own steam, much to Ichigo's confusion.

After picking the child up and ascertaining his mental state, Ichigo continued onwards towards his eventual destination: the hill. It was hot on the hill that day, making Ichigo briefly wish for the shade of the houses before realizing that _people_ generally accompanied them and retracted the though so quickly his brain received mild whiplash. There was no breeze, and so the air was still and heavy making it difficult to breathe in, such was its thickness. Even the grass was warmer underfoot than it really had any right to be, taking away from the usually pleasant experience that accompanied walking barefoot upon it. Ichigo observed the way that all the individual blades seemed to lightly reflect the beating sun, as if they were consciously angling themselves to take in the heat. The result was a dazzling display of shining green that almost seemed to glow like a fire, the individual blades forming the tongues that licked at his calloused soles and heated them even further to the point at which moisture started to emerge from the pours. About halfway up the hill he stopped, remembering the waves from earlier, and turned around to look out the valley.

From up there it was difficult to make out much of anything. The waves trailed lazily across the sky, moving up and down and shimmering in such a way that one might mistake the sight of them for the beginnings of a mirage. In fact it was almost like staring across the ghost of the sea that must have once been there, the waves being the ripples of the water dancing upon the surface whist the tops of the distant hills were the opposite shore. At its lowest depth the other towns, clumps of trees, and even the river were so out of focus they appeared to be nothing more than smudges; like a child's first painting. The towns were dark greyish-brown smudges dotted about on the light green smear that was the grass, with occasional patches of darker green likely signifying the clumps of trees, and draped across the middle was a long, thin blueish smear that was likely the river. Ichigo thought the combined effect was almost comical, it was certainly a far cry from his usual view.

However, any humour to be found in this situation was short lived when Ichigo remembered the tiniest detail about Jūshirō. Some time ago, Ichigo had asked about the rather odd combination of white hair and black eyebrows his friend possessed, as it had been an item of curiosity for his often idle brain. What he received in response, however, was not something he had expected. In the place of an explanation about noble style, or a hair bleaching gone wrong, Ichigo was regaled in the tale of a sickly infant on the brink of death. Jūshirō's parents had been at their wit's end when they had delivered him to a shrine deep into the districts to be saved, hoping against hope that their eldest child would live to see another morning, let alone the next summer. The spirit of that shrine had answered. Jūshirō had been snatched back from death's door, but at some price.

His health, Ichigo had come to realize, was never a certain thing. Some days he would be fine, almost the picture of health if not for how perpetually frail he was, but the very next day he might be unable to move for violent coughing fits and the complete agony raking his body. Those were the days Jūshirō didn't emerge from the house. At first it had made Ichigo angry. Angry that he couldn't do anything to help, angry that _anyone_ had to live with such a thing, angry that Jūshirō would continue to come out of the house for _his benefit_ until he could not physically move. He had felt more than a little selfish for accepting the daily food parcel that Jūshirō offered him, the clothes he gave to him with a casual 'I have more than enough clothes, Ichigo'.

After a while though, the anger had faded. Jūshirō had assured him that he had been alive for thirty years since then and was more than capable of dealing with it, and that he had people around him that cared and looked after him. He no longer had his mother for that, she had been taken by the same illness that had almost claimed him, but his father lived on as did his sisters; all of which he referred to as Nee-chan. Ichigo's anger had subsided to mere frustration after that, and he vowed to better look out for his friend. At present, it was this vow that was causing him concern. Such heat would surely be bad for Jūshirō, and if he was any judge of character his friend would emerge anyway. He wouldn't baby him though, he would simply keep an eye on him, and would send him back off to the house faster than you could blink if the noble so much as swayed. Ichigo gave himself a firm nod, resolved, and slumped back onto the grass to watch the sky.

He promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Ichigo had been dozing for some time, in the realm between waking and sleeping, when he was unceremoniously awakened by a very hard object landing on his stomach. Now firmly awake, he bolted upright faster than a startled deer and frantically scanned his surroundings for a threat. To his right, there was nothing but hills and farmland, the occasional hut perched precariously on flat pieces of ground too small to effectively hold them. To his front was the town and the valley beyond it, still smudgy and blurred like melting cake icing. The last place Ichigo had left to look was his left hand side, and when he turned his gaze that way he was greeted by the sight of a grinning Jūshirō, who was, quite literally, left holding the bag. On his lap, Ichigo found, upon inspection, the same sheathed katana he had been using the day before and deduced it was that which had caused him to awaken so suddenly.

He turned slowly back to the source of the katana, face down and covered with malicious shadow. "Oi…" said he, voice shaking and dangerously soft. What followed was the silence before a volcano erupted. The pause before the final crescendo at the opera. A silence so full of tension that thunderclouds formed overhead…

Then, the storm broke.

"…WHAT THE HELL, JŪSHIRŌ!?" Yelled Ichigo at such a volume that living souls were bound to hear. In parallel dimensions dolphins beached and dogs barked, avalanches were caused upon the highest snow-capped mountains, atoms were split, and wolves howled at the moon in response to the most confusing call they had ever heard.

Meanwhile, on the hill, Jūshirō had crumbled into a hysterical heap on the grass partially, but not entirely, due to the fact that Ichigo was now glancing around the valley with confusion as his own voice echoed back at him. Mostly it was due to Ichigo going completely strawberry red from head to toe in a comical rage, and Jūshirō only managed to refrain from calling Ichigo by his nickname for the sake of his personal safety. Ichigo looked back at Jūshirō, and waited not-so-patiently for his friend to calm down. By this point he was scowling from every inch of his being, and tried to think of a fitting revenge.

"G-gomen…" Jūshirō eventually managed to force out, falling into another fit of laughter shortly after and not able to stop for quite some time. Gathering himself with a deep breath, he finally managed to speak properly. "I did try calling."

Ichigo fumed, "Well try harder next time! That could have killed me!"

"It was a sheathed katana, Ichigo."

"What if the sheath came off!?"

"It was tied to the guard…"

Ichigo folded his arms with a fiery huff. "The knot could have come loose."

"But did it?"

He pouted and turned to face the valley/three-year-old's art attempt. "No…" he spun back around, "But why'd ya have to do that!?"

By this point Jūshirō had managed to obtain a tentative hold of his composure, and managed to respond without falling into another laughing fit. "As I said, I tried calling. I even poked you with my foot a few times" he held his sandaled foot up for emphasis. "To be honest, it reminded me of a friend of mine, so I decided to try a similar level of shock on you to what I have to use to wake him up."

Ichigo, by now slightly less irate, huffed again. "Whatever. Just poke me in the eye or something next time. I'd rather keep my stomach inside, thanks."

Jūshirō raised his hands in surrender, "Hai, Hai."

Shortly afterwards Jūshirō set Ichigo off on the next set of movements. He demonstrated the kata much like he had done the day before, slowing it down so Ichigo to could take proper note of the specific movements and positions. Jūshirō ran it through a few times to make sure his friend understood, then stood off to the side to observe. Soon, he found his brow furrowing. Much like the day prior, Ichigo moved through the kata like it was his birth-right. He held himself with confidence, he made no real errors, the sword sat comfortably in his hands all the way through, and his posture was spot-on. The kata was still, admittedly, an easier one, but it usually took beginner students a good few weeks of practice to attain the level of perfection Ichigo completed them at. Besides, there was just something about the way he moved. Jūshirō had noticed it yesterday as well, this flowing movement. It bore no awkwardness, not like a beginner at all in that regard, and was done with such ease that if Ichigo's face wasn't so definitely that of concentration he might have looked bored. Quite peculiar indeed.

Rather than have Ichigo continue doing a movement set obviously below his ability, Jūshirō moved him on to the next within half-an-hour. Yet again, Ichigo took to the kata like a fish to water. Moving onto the next produced the same result, as well as with the next, and the next…and the next…

'What is this?' Jūshirō thought to himself, watching as yet another kata was mastered in mere minutes.

In the end, he called for Ichigo to stop for a lunch break far earlier than he might have done otherwise. He needed time to think about how to proceed, though he had to admit he'd had a feeling something like this would happen when he'd noticed Ichigo's seemingly natural talent the day before. He hadn't thought it would be as…strange as this. More to the point, where was it coming from, this ability of his? It couldn't be natural talent, Jūshirō got the feeling that would be an insult to…whatever it actually was. He also knew that Ichigo didn't remember anything of his past life, and it was far too late for memories to be returning; just over a year after he'd arrived. He trusted that Ichigo hadn't lied, and he believed that he was just as confused about this as he was; if the contemplative face his friend was making were any indication. Some sort of spiritual anomaly, perhaps? Some sort of filter slowly giving this ability back to him?

Jūshirō shook his head. No, that was far-fetched at best. It was more likely to be some kind of muscle memory left over from his previous life, though he had no idea how the cycle of souls had come to make this mistake. Surely if he remembered one thing he would remember everything. That was how it worked. He glanced at Ichigo, who was now glaring at the heat wave. He knew he wasn't being lied to, Ichigo was the type of person who just _couldn't_ lie even if his life depended on it. So what was this?

Jūshirō sighed, perhaps he was making too much out of it. Perhaps it would be better to just go with it and see where it went, it certainly made the job of training him easier; he could switch straight to sparing without worry. After all, who was he to kick the gift horse?

He took one last swig from his water skin, then stood up. "Alright" said he, prompting Ichigo to turn his way, "We're going to try something different." He picked up his sword and walked ten paces before turning around, coming to face a confused looking Ichigo. "I'm going to attack you, and I want you to defend against it. You don't need to worry about counter-attacking just yet, just try not to get pushed back too far or let me land a hit. I won't go all out just yet" he reassured when Ichigo looked at him sceptically, "but that doesn't mean you can let your guard down." With that, he drew his sword and dropped the sheath on the grass behind him, out of the way.

Ichigo, meanwhile, was stumped for only a moment more by the sudden change in pace before he shook himself and did the same. He dropped into a ready stance, sword held before him in both hands, and watched his friend carefully. He knew Jūshirō was good, it was written all over him when he held a sword, but he wasn't sure just _how good_ he was. Even with him holding back there was still a possibility that twenty years of training was going to be too much for him to handle.

He mentally slapped himself.

In theory, it was simple. Just don't get hit and don't fall over backwards; that's all there was too it. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes, centring himself. Then he opened them again, and sent Jūshirō a nod, which was returned.

Ichigo had a split second to observe his friend tense before Jūshirō pushed off towards him. Even then it was clear he was holding back something fierce, it was in his stride. Like he was forcibly slowing himself down. It looked a little awkward for the first few steps, in fact. He wouldn't say it out loud yet, but when the first swing –an overhead chop aimed at his shoulder- came down Ichigo felt as if he could have followed the movement in his sleep. He knew Jūshirō was better than that. He raised his sword to meet Jūshirō's horizontally and the two blades met with a resounding clang, both of them with two hands on their swords and fighting for the upper hand. Even with his initial confidence still intact, Ichigo had to admit that Jūshirō hit _hard_ for someone as frail as he looked to be, that was something he hadn't been expecting at all. He had a feeling that this was the one element Jūshirō wasn't holding back on, probably because he still wanted to test Ichigo. Jūshirō still won the pushing battle after a few seconds though, and Ichigo was forced to jump away; or risk getting hit.

The next attack was a long-armed thrust, Jūshirō using the ground Ichigo had put between them to his own advantage. Ichigo instinctively deflected the incoming sword to his left, moving right to allow his opponent to stumble after his blade. Before he had much time to settle, however, Jūshirō decided to up the speed a little and directed a wide arcing slash in towards Ichigo's knees. Ichigo jumped the sword, and was immediately forced to bring his sword up to block the following diagonal slash that would have rent him from his shoulder down to his waist if he hadn't blocked it. Instead of holding his blade Jūshirō immediately pulled back and struck again, swinging in towards Ichigo's right arm and forcing his opponent to move his whole body to block the blade head-on. It left Ichigo vulnerable with his side now exposed to Jūshirō, who drew his sword back with a rasp as it slid off Ichigo's own sword and struck quickly at Ichigo's head with a high chop. Again Ichigo met the blade with his own, and Jūshirō disengaged only to dance back in a moment later with a backhand slash. For a moment, it looked as if the blade was going to strike home.

But then Ichigo's sword appeared in the gap, angled with the tip towards the ground as he held the weapon one-handed almost over his shoulder. Jūshirō had to admit, it was an impressive block. He pressed against Ichigo's sword a few times to test the strength of the defence before pulling back, holding up a hand to indicate he was done before walking around Ichigo to his sheath. He wasn't going to say it out loud, but the heat was starting to get to him. He had known that it was a risk to exert himself, and that if he had one of his episodes out here it would be up to Ichigo to either make sure he didn't choke on his own lungs or that he made it back to the house. Either way, it would make his position at home particularly tricky. He picked up his sheath and slid his sword home, typing the small rope around the guard through the loop at the top of the sheath to make sure it didn't come out. He then slid it back into the bag, his hand emerging a moment later with Ichigo's food parcel.

When he handed it to his friend a look of understanding passed onto his features. Ichigo knew of the condition, Jūshirō had known it would be unfair not to tell him; just in case. So now that the sun was becoming a little _too_ uncomfortable Ichigo knew why Jūshirō was calling it a day earlier than usual, he was grateful for the knowledge that Ichigo wasn't going to call him out on it, or ask him if he was alright. He just knew. That was all that was needed.

Ichigo made to hand the sword back to Jūshirō, pointedly presenting it hilt-first. He was surprised when Jūshirō simply shook his head, pushing it back towards him. "Keep it. You'll need it to practice."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "You're just giving me a sword? Damn, you nobles really have no grasp of money" said he, mildly exasperated by his tone. Jūshirō laughed, slightly strained sounding due to the heat.

"It's not a big deal, Ichigo. That's a low quality sword" said he, sighing when Ichigo's jaw slackened comically. "Have you noticed how it's hilt-heavy? It's not very well balanced, and the metal is weak for a sword. It's nowhere close to the quality of a guard's sword, let alone one of my father's ceremonial katana" he groaned when Ichigo still looked stricken. "It's a spare sword. In a spare sheath. I found them in the back of a storage cupboard and neither of them have been used in years, I'm sure. It's not a problem."

That seemed to mollify Ichigo somewhat, at least to the point where his jaw elevated from the floor. He placed the sword over his shoulders, holding it there with two hands either-side of his head and lent his head back against the hard leather sheath. The sky was still the same blue, he noted. It was like looking at a well-painted wall.

When he next spoke it was quiet, so quiet that Jūshirō had to strain to hear what it was he said.

"Thanks, Jū." It was for more than the sword. Jūshirō didn't know what had brought it on, but he put it down to his illness bringing his friend down. So he smiled.

"Not a problem" said he. "I should get back to the house. This heat isn't doing me any good" he began to walk down the hill as he said this, throwing a wave over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ichigo."

"Aa" Ichigo replied, still quiet and looking at the sky.

"See you tomorrow"

* * *

The routine changed again after that. Ichigo didn't mind at all, if anything it was a good change. However, the fact remained that something changed that afternoon on the hill, not simply the routine; something more. His new-found feeling remained, driving him out of bed every day and so forth, keeping the world in focus, and with it everything become easier, lighter almost. No longer was stealing something he did, but was unable to talk about. He still didn't enjoy doing it, but it no longer made him grit his teeth and force the thought away. Instead, it became a means to an end; those ends being his successful acquisition of a solid job. He could live with it now, and that was enough.

With this change within himself, there came another one. It seemed that after their third day of training, Jūshirō had realized that there was something different about his friend. He hadn't said anything out loud, hadn't called him up on it or demanded to know the answers to questions even Ichigo didn't know the answers to. Instead he had simply got on with it, though Ichigo noticed that the other boy began acting slightly more freely around him. He wondered if Jūshirō had been afraid of showing too much emotion to Ichigo, not because _he_ was bad at self-expression, but because Ichigo was. Whatever the reason, a wall seemed to crumble, and Ichigo found himself far more at ease than he had been before; even if he was adamant he had been 'at ease' before.

After that particular afternoon, the weather cooled down again and fell to a far more comfortable level. Jūshirō could manage sparing for longer periods of time, and they often went for a few hours at a time with Jūshirō slowly starting to hold back less and less as the days progressed. Ichigo's abilities were coming on steadily, if accelerated, and he was able to hold his own against his friend going at almost full-speed. Jūshirō had stopped questioning his friend's rapid development after their first spar, having concluded that just running with it was by far the best option. It was still baffling, of course, but if he treated Ichigo like any other opponent he found that the sparing sessions were actually quite enjoyable. Ichigo wasn't as fast as he was, not by some margin, but he made up for this with raw strength that was often turned to forcing Jūshirō to block heavy strikes that made him wince.

On the morning three days before the interview they had sparred for roughly thirty minutes, before Jūshirō had conceded that Ichigo was almost certainly going to pass the demonstration aspect of the test. However, there was more to it than that. Along with a physical demonstration, which Jūshirō knew involved fighting a senior member of the guard, there was a spoken interview as well. This second portion involved the candidate meeting with the head of the household, Jūshirō's father, and during this period of time it was imperative that Ichigo had some idea of how to properly address nobility. Ichigo could play twenty questions all day, so that wasn't a problem. What the problem was that he had never, in his life, addressed anyone formally; not even Jūshirō. He hadn't had any reason to. For Ichigo, respectful address was for the stuffy nobles that lived in the Seireitei and had never lived a properly hard day in their lives. He would treat as an equal those whom he felt deserved it, not someone who would look down their nose at him without even deigning to speak with him first; i.e. a stuffy noble from the Seireitei.

So, after their spar, Jūshirō began the process of teaching Ichigo proper address. Most of it was fairly easy to pick up, he wasn't dense after all. The issue was his principals and the fact that he would have to compromise them by addressing people he held little respect for as if they were his lord and saviour. Which they likely thought they were. Jūshirō had assured Ichigo that his father was a good man, one of similar principals as well, and that he shouldn't be worried about himself being 'kicked to the curb', so to speak. Ukitake Sabūrō was, apparently, kind hearted and gentle if a little stiff when it came to protocol and etiquette, though this last trait was only truly taxing for the guards during formal visits. To put Ichigo at ease somewhat, and give his father a more human appearance, Jūshirō regaled his friend in some of his father's better known exploits, along with some of the mischief they had gotten into when he himself was very young. Ichigo had admit that the man sounded cool enough. Besides, Jūshirō must have been (at least partially) his father's son. The man did raise him after his mother died after all, and so it was likely that Jūshirō's and Sabūrō's principals and thought processes were similar. Seeing as Jūshirō was the only person Ichigo had ever met that would give a poor person food and clothing for no gain on his own part whatsoever, as well as his only friend, he felt it safe to assume that Sabūrō was a decent enough guy. Perhaps worthy of his respect.

Perhaps.

At present, Ichigo was making his way back to the shed. The night had drawn in and the air was cool, refreshing him after the warmth of the day. The moon was full, illuminating his surroundings and casting long shadows of the buildings against the fields that surrounded them. For the first time in a few weeks, Ichigo's mind was blank. He navigated the streets with a kind of ease only time and experience could bring, his sword resting absently across his shoulders so that he could better lean his head back to gaze up at the sky. He hadn't ever been one for night-time strolls, preferring to spend the precious hours of darkness sleeping and regaining his energy for the next day. Tonight, however, he was at ease. The interview wasn't for another three days, and Jūshirō had assured him that he would have all the formalities down to an art long before that, if he kept his current pace. So really, he had no worries; seeing as the practical element didn't bother him at all. Taking his new found 'at-ease-ness' he decided that lingering about was a good change up on his usual evening plan –i.e. sleep- and had slowed his pace upon entering the town.

So he wandered the streets, not really paying attention to where he was going; just kind of _knowing_ it was the right direction. He paid his surroundings little heed, so caught up in the stars was he, and walked as if he had no purpose at all, even though he did. However, his absentmindedness was kicked in the shin slightly when he rounded the corner that would take him past the back of the tavern. Now, Ichigo would usually avoid the tavern, he had found in the past couple of weeks that fighting drunkards for an insignificant adrenalin rush didn't appeal; so he would take a different route. Regretfully he was not paying attention this evening, and so he had ended up here to find a small crowd gathering. He furrowed his brows slightly, puzzled. Usually the drunks would be on their lonesome, having either been thrown out or kicked out, depending on the guard. This time they seemed to be somewhat…organized?

Ichigo blinked. It was impossible, surely?

No…no those did appear to be ranks…kind of…maybe…from a distance.

There were ten of them that Ichigo could see, and they were standing in a _kind of_ arrow shape with a man that Ichigo might have recognized at the front. He was short, round, and a very comical shade of red. Ichigo wondered absently if he came from someone's garden, and as to where his little red hat was, before then trailing off and wondering why that image was so familiar. Regardless, the little round being at the front was clearly in a seething rage. It was quite amusing, actually; Ichigo could not think of any circumstance in which he could take the poor sod seriously. Also clear was the fact that this group was waiting for Ichigo, and it was either horrible luck on his part or Kami-given luck on theirs that they just so happened to gather on the night Ichigo decided to day-dream. Night dream…

Surely that was just regular dreaming?

Whatever.

Ichigo and the group stood and stared at each other for some time, the gathering slowly building their fiery rages further and creating smoke columns into the dark sky as the embers of their anger heated up. Ichigo, meanwhile, was nonplussed. They were all clearly drunk, and their formation appeared to be more of a coincidence than a plan; though he guessed it might have been at some stage of the evening. He reckoned he could take the ten of them easy if they moved in as disorganized a fashion as he expected they might, and would probably be able to do it without killing any of them either. Good.

He felt far too sorry for them to kill any of them.

The stand off continued for some minutes before Ichigo got bored of following the angry smoke columns as they trailed into the sky, and decided the best course of action was to antagonize them.

"Yo" he greeted, raising one hand off of the sword upon his shoulders, palm-out, as if to greet them like personal friends. The little man at the front of the arrow clenched his fists and stamped his foot, going a rather incredible shade of red from head to toe.

"That's all you've got to say!?" He exclaimed, red face burning in Ichigo's direction.

He shrugged lazily and lowered his hand back to his sword, "What were you expecting?"

"What!?" The little man stamped his foot again, giving the impression of an angry toddler. "That's not important! What's important is the fact that we're gonna beat the shit out of you for messing with us!"

"Oh?" Ichigo raised his head slightly to better survey the assembled townsfolk. "Six on one? That's hardly fair…" the little man barked a harsh laugh.

"Baka! You can't even count can you!?" he yelled, pointing a pudgy finger at Ichigo. "It's ten on one, retard!"

Ichigo waved a hand lamely, then began to point out the four of their number who appeared to be too drunk to even breathe correctly. "The four who can barely stand up don't count. They probably can't take a single step without tripping over thin-air, let alone throw a straight punch."

"Shut up!" One of them shouted, having been identified by Ichigo's pointed finger. He promptly fell flat on his face, eyes rolling back in their sockets on the way down. The leader glanced backwards, and somehow managed to get even angrier at the state of his force.

"Idiots! I told you not to drink so much!" he span back around again and growled, "It doesn't matter. Like you said, it's six on one!"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Nah, that's not what I meant…" Slowly, he lifted the sword off his shoulders and slid the blade from the sheath. "Six to one isn't fair on you guys."

The leader of the pack bristled when he saw the sword, seemingly wondering whether it was still worth it. Then he started forward, some of the braver (or drunker) men following him. "Bastard. I'm gonna make you pay for what you did to my face!"

At that moment, the little man properly entered the moonlight, and Ichigo saw several ugly scars adorning his round face. If he strained his memory, he could just remember pounding the guy into a wall after he picked a fight with Ichigo in this very alley. Even after he'd been thrown to the floor three times and getting several broken fingers for his trouble he had still gotten up, the wall had been an act out of boredom more than anything else. Whatever vendetta the man had against Ichigo then had apparently gotten worse with time, and he now had friends to back him up.

Ichigo switched the sword and sheath around his hands so that the sword was in his offhand, and his sheath was leading. Despite the sorry state of the rabble, he remained firm in the commitment to not killing any of them unless he was left with no other choice; meaning that his sword would have to stay very-much out the way.

The rabble was upon him now, their leader at the head of the charge with his fist raised high so that it was roughly level with Ichigo's head. Time seemed to slow down for Ichigo as the fist swung towards him, leaving it to move through the air almost as if it were a thick substance. Ichigo moved forwards, stepping to the side of the fist and sending his sheath slashing downwards viciously against the leader's temple. His adversary crumpled sideways, the hard leather having made a resounding _thwack_ sound upon impact, and fell straight into the path of another who'd been charging behind him. Unable to react in his drunken state the man tripped over his leader, cracking his head upon the hard cobble floor and not moving another muscle. Ichigo, meanwhile, stepped underneath a swing aimed at him from the right and allowed the man to stagger through under his own momentum. It gave him the room he needed to bring his sheath around from the right in a wide arc. The hard leather impacted at the side of his attacker's head, sending him to the floor next to comrades, unmoving.

With only three more capable attackers remaining, Ichigo had far more room to manoeuvre. He stepped back from the next attack, allowing it to fall short, and thrust forwards with his sheath to strike the man in the centre of his forehead, leaving only two remaining. Ichigo went on the attack then, pushing one's Adam's-Apple in to leave him gasping for breath and striking the other hard in the back of the head, having ducked under his swing. With the last two capable fighters on the floor, Ichigo turned to the three remaining drunks; the fourth still passed out further up the street. Ichigo surveyed them, one had wet himself and looked more scared the angry, whist the other two still looked fairly pissed. Both kinds of pissed.

One of them made to swing at Ichigo, though the move was slower still than his more capable fellows. Ichigo struck forward with his sheath, embedding it into the man's gut only to withdraw it quickly to evade the inevitable spew that erupted from his mouth. The second, meanwhile, had been trying to flank Ichigo despite never actually leaving his line of sight. So when the attack came, Ichigo calmly put his sheath up and tapped the man on the forehead without looking, the effect was rather like watching a tall tree fall. The third, now terrified, leaking, _and_ disenchanted with whatever tripe had been put into his poor malleable brain decided that the best option for him at the point was to leave. Very quickly.

It was a shame he booked it straight into a wall.

Ichigo watched with interest as his last opponent slid down the thick, wooden wall; his face grinding against the surface all the way down. It was fascinating to see how his nose remained unbroken despite the obvious friction it was enduring, and despite the speed at which it had made contact with the wall. The drunk came to rest at the bottom, his face still pressed against the wall even though his body was sprawled out on the ground, and Ichigo felt his curiosity wain.

He sheathed his sword and returned it to its prior position across his shoulders so that he could lean his head against it, then walked calmly on towards his shed as if nothing had just happened. The encounter had been over within seconds after-all, ten seconds in-fact; Ichigo knew this because he had been able to count during the fight. So insignificant was the amount of time spent dealing with the posse that it was barely worth acknowledging, and Ichigo couldn't be bothered to anyway. So he simply didn't. In short order he was back in his shed, under his thin summer blanket and falling into a comfortable sleep.

Tomorrow he would continue to learn etiquette from Jūshirō, and in three day's-time he would be at the interview itself. He was confident he would succeed, and was determined to do so. He wasn't about to throw away the chance that had been presented to him just because he had swear loyalty to his best friend's father, he was stubborn not stupid. So he slept with resolve that night, ready to tackle the pains of formality come the next day. Jūshirō had mentioned something along the lines of bowing, or something similar.

How hard could _bowing_ be?

* * *

"No, Ichigo! You have to bow lower!" Yelled Jūshirō for what felt to him like the millionth time. "Stopping there would be seen as a slight to my father's status, and he surely would not appreciate that; much less grant you a job afterwards. You must get lower, fold in the middle like I showed you so that you're facing the ground."

Ichigo groaned and tried again, bowing as low as he could before his back began to hurt and then stopping. He was sure it was lower than the last time, he was sure all of the bows he had performed were lower than their predecessors, but Jūshirō had yet to call any of them adequate. He couldn't figure out why _this_ of all things was so difficult, he had mastered everything else quickly enough, and in theory this was just as easy. For some reason he just couldn't do it.

Perhaps some vestige of his pride was holding him up?

Jūshirō sighed audibly, and Ichigo could imagine his friend rubbing his face again. If he kept it up, surely it would be worn down to the bone. "This isn't working" Jūshirō declared, coming over and standing beside Ichigo. He pushed down on the back of Ichigo's head with his hand until his friend was at the proper height, then let go. "There. That wasn't so hard."

Ichigo scowled at the floor. "I can't do this on demand!" he yelled, then winced at the agony in his back.

Jūshirō wasn't sympathetic, "People have been bowing like that for hundreds of years, Ichigo. If it didn't hurt them then it can't be hurting you."

"It is hurting me!"

"Then you're being overdramatic…"

Ichigo seethed, "You're saying it like I'm overdramatic all the time!"

A large droplet of sweat made its merry way down the back of Jūshirō's head. "That's because you are, Ichigo."

"Oi!"

After Jūshirō had managed to calm Ichigo down, Ichigo continued to practice the bow. By the end of the day Jūshirō was at least fairly comfortable with Ichigo meeting his father, the meeting was the next day and if he hadn't been able to even enter the room without insulting his entire family Jūshirō would likely have stopped him from coming. However, he did have to concede that Ichigo had been making improvement all day, for the last three days as well, but the improvement had been agonizingly slow. After it became apparent that Ichigo was going to take some time in getting the bow right, Jūshirō had decided to keep the bowing practice spread out over the three remaining days and teach Ichigo everything else at the same time. Ichigo had picked everything else up easily, but the simple act of bowing still seemed to be beyond him, even after he had got everything else down to an art. So Jūshirō decided to dedicate the entirety of the last day to it.

After this, frankly ridiculous, amount of time doing absolutely nothing else Ichigo had, at last, shown some marked improvement. Over the course of the day he had slowly gotten lower and lower, his posture more and more at ease and without the strain he had experienced originally. It was almost to the point of not insulting his entire family _and_ all of his ancestors now, and for that Jūshirō was very glad indeed. He couldn't be sure how his father would react to being slighted by _Ichigo,_ a thief and a vagrant; probably quite badly.

Finally, with the light fading rapidly, Ichigo managed to execute a bow that Jūshirō was happy with. Or at least confident enough with that he could be sure it wouldn't get Ichigo executed on the spot, at this point he would take what he could get and wouldn't complain. The thief stood again, stretching his back to illicit a painful sounding _crack_ sound and rolling his neck to make it _pop_. He realized, now that he was allowed to move, that he had very uncomfortable cramp all the way up his back and neck, and his legs and arms had long since gone to sleep. How was he supposed to do the practical like this!? He glowered at Jūshirō, who shrugged in a 'You brought this on yourself' kind of way, though offering a typical sympathetic smile. Shortly afterwards they bade farewell to each other, and went their separate ways; Jūshirō returning to his house whilst Ichigo skirted the town entirely to get back to his shed.

The encounter two nights ago had made him realize that he couldn't afford to get into any fights before the interview, if he did there was a possibility –however minute- that he would get injured. He wanted to be in as good a shape as he could be for this, so determined was he to succeed. Besides, this Sabūrō character didn't sound like one to waste resources on someone too injured to fight properly, especially if that person was responsible for his own safety. Ichigo couldn't begrudge him for that, the man had responsibilities after all; to his family and his clan. He would want the best guards too, if he were in Sabūrō's place. So he skipped the town entirely, watching the ground carefully for holes and keeping an eye out for anyone who'd take it upon themselves to 'teach him a lesson'. Or attempt to, rather. He doubted any of those pansies would know which end of a sword was the sharp one, even if it got rammed up their ass.

He arrived back at the shed without incident, sadly, and went to bed in short order. He liked to get the correct amount of sleep usually, but today was different: he needed the sleep today. If he turned up for this interview looking like death warmed up he'd be laughed out of soul-society. Unless he was allowed to demonstrate his skill on one of those laughing…then they'd probably have to hire him to replace whichever hapless fool he'd just obliterated. He liked to think he could send most people running with his 'mildly irritated scowl' alone, imagine what he could when he was _really_ pissed. He'd be unstoppable. It was this thought that sent him to sleep with a smile.

* * *

The next morning found Ichigo outside the big wooden gates that led to Jūshirō's home (because that's all it was to Ichigo at that moment), scowling at the one remaining gate guard to pass the time. He was still convinced he could take over the world with his scowl, and was testing his theory by playing a little game. You see, one of the gate guards had retreated back within the walls to check whether a 'Kurosaki Ichigo' was expected that day, and whether said person was supposed to be an orange haired kid with a perma-scowl that looked suspiciously like a tramp. In the meanwhile, there was only one guard left to watch Ichigo. After some minutes of waiting for the first guard to come back, Ichigo had noticed that the remaining guard was staring at him intently, as if trying to burn a hole through him with his eyes. Ichigo had subsequently turned to scowl at him, and the guard had looked away so fast that Ichigo was almost certain the man had given himself whiplash. So now he was engaged in a game, wait until the guard started staring at him again, and then turn an ever increasing amount of scowl on the man to make him look away again. The goal of this improvised game was to see whether he could make this guard either wet himself in fear, or drown in his own sweat. The secondary goal was to give the guy permanent whiplash, but Ichigo was sure he had achieved this some time ago.

Ten minutes into the game, and Ichigo was interrupted by the gate swinging open to reveal the absent gate guard. He gave Ichigo a blank, almost bored look, before speaking. "Ukitake-dono will see you now" was all he said.

With that, he gestured for Ichigo to move past him and beyond the gates with a movement almost as lazy as his voice had been, if that were even possible. As Ichigo passed, he noticed the guard give his follow a curious glance, obviously trying to ascertain _where_ exactly the small pool of moisture at the man's feet had come from. Ichigo was fairly sure it was sweat (note _fairly_ sure), but didn't voice an opinion on the matter. Once the gate was shut behind him, Ichigo turned his full attention to the path before him…and then stopped.

He stopped walking, stopped breathing, his eyes had gone comically wide.

Before him was a garden, but not just any garden. It was possibly the most breath-taking thing he had ever seen, huge swathes of colour and overpowering smells assaulted his senses and drew him in. The path ran straight to the door of the house, branching off sharply to the left just before it and leading around the side. The stone paving slabs were white flecked with black, and they shone in the midday sun, sparkling and reflecting like a river without any colour. Flanking it on either side were trees with bark of a similar shade, white flecked in black, standing like sentries watching the path, whilst still providing shade for those who walked the path beneath them. Beyond the trees to the right was the garden itself, painstakingly trimmed grass as green as brightest emeralds and shining just as brightly occupied the majority of the space. At the side were boarders _full_ of plants of every shade under the sun. Reds, oranges, and yellows. Pink, lilac, and purple. Shades of blue and green Ichigo had _never_ seen before; it was all here. Ordered to present a complete spread of hues, almost like a floral rainbow, it presented a stunning sight and was framed by the white of the wall behind them. On the opposite side of the path there was a large pond, bordered by reeds and long-leafed plants and covered with water lilies, yet still allowing the sun to glint warmly off the surface of the water. If Ichigo looked very hard, he could have sworn he saw movement beneath the surface, but didn't have time to dwell on it.

He was broken out of his trance by the guard walking past him, ignoring his surroundings like he'd seen it a thousand times before; Ichigo reasoned that he probably had and tried not to begrudge him. He followed the guard up the path beneath the birch trees, still glancing this way and that and trying to commit what he was seeing to memory. The doors, alas, were upon them too soon for him to get it all, and the guard pushed them open without even breaking stride; thus robbing Ichigo of his view. The first thing Ichigo saw once through the door was a white wall, adorned with a tapestry with what he could only imagine was the Ukitake clan emblem on it: a lake with a very intricate, long bamboo stem with swirling patterns all along it shooting out from under the surface, framed by a pentagon. To either side of the main door was a long corridor with sliding screen doors along the wall from one end to the other, the floor was a polished wood so clean that Ichigo could make out every detail of his face looking at it. The guard went left, walking with purpose until he came to a specific sliding door and then knelt down before it; motioning to Ichigo that he should do the same. At least he cared that much.

The guard took a deep breath, then tapped the frame. "Ukitake-dono! I have brought Kurosaki Ichigo as requested!"

There was a long pause from the other side that Ichigo concluded was entirely to unsettle him, or perhaps Sabūrō had been caught with a mouthful of some sort of lunch item; it was about that time of day. Then a calm voice came from within the room, "Enter."

Without preamble, the guard slid the door open to reveal the room beyond. Within sat two figures, one of which Ichigo immediately identified as Jūshirō without even looking, the other must have been Sabūrō. The first thing Ichigo noticed about the two was the contrast, the elder Ukitake had long black hair about the same length as Jūshirō's. It completely threw Ichigo. It was almost like looking at the stone paving slabs outside; that's just how stark it was. Eventually he managed to move past the hair, and noticed that the differences pretty much stopped there. They had the same shape of face, the same colour eyes and eyebrows, their noses were both very similar, and if he had to guess Ichigo would have said they were the same height as well. He wondered briefly whether Jūshirō inherited _anything_ from his mother.

Ichigo was jarred from his observations when the guard nudged him discreetly. He stood quickly then, grateful that he hadn't started at the contact, and made his way over to the pair until he was a respectful distance away from them. Without any delay, he bowed as low as he could manage with his arms straight at his sides, "Ukitake-dono, Jū…" he winced, "Ukitake-sama." He had been thankful that his back wasn't protesting his bow, and therefore hadn't been paying attention when he greeted the pair. It hadn't felt right to him, not using Jūshirō's given name. It didn't roll off the tongue very well for him.

"Kurosaki-san", Sabūrō motioned for him to straighten up, "Thank you for coming. Please, take a seat; we will be talking for a while."

Ichigo did as asked whilst trying not to gawp at the fact Sabūrō and his son _sounded_ the same. The two of them were uncanny, in an almost startling kind of way. What also surprised Ichigo was the fact that Sabūrō didn't sound as uptight as he was expecting, the man had even smiled at him with an almost exact copy of Jūshirō's, sans the familiarity. Ichigo sat on the provided floor cushion, politely declining the offered pastry but accepting a cup of water, and wondered just how much of Sabūrō's principals had been bestowed to his son.

"Now" said Sabūrō, having placed the tray back on the floor between them, "I trust Jūshirō has explained the nature of this position, and what would be expected of you?" The tone indicated a question, and so Ichigo nodded with brief affirmative. "Good. So you understand how important it is?"

"Hai."

"Then there is not much to say on the matter. As a guard under my employ you would be expected to protect this house and all who inhabit it, including any guests, with your heart and soul. While I would prefer it if none of my guards were to die, you must understand that I place the safety of my family above all else, and I would ask that you do the same." Ichigo nodded again to show that he understood, and Sabūrō returned it was a small smile. "It is good to see that you know of the formalities, it saves myself or Jūshirō having to teach you" said he, causing Jūshirō to inhale a pasty crumb and subsequently choke on it, though he managed to wave his father off when a concerned glance was sent his way. Sabūrō sighed, "Please, excuse my son. I was about to say that the senior guard, Sautsaki, can enlighten you on any of the smaller intricacies that may otherwise trip you up, as they tend to do."

He cast another look towards Jūshirō, allowing Ichigo to do the same. He had to grit his teeth painfully to keep himself from laughing at the curious shade of purple his friend had taken, and therefore looked away again rather quickly to mask the threatening grin with a sip of water.

After that the interview continued uninterrupted. Ichigo was informed of the finer points of his duties, should he be accepted, and how many hours a day he would be on duty for. From what he could tell, the only time he would be guarding anything other than the gate or a few specific points around the garden would be when he was accompanying Sabūrō or a member of his family to whatever important function it was that required him to leave the safety of his walls. He would be on a twelve hour rotation which was either during the day or at night, and within that there were three, four-hour rotations that cycled the duty guards around the walls so that they weren't staring at the same thing for twelve straight hours. Ichigo reckoned that was a fancy way of saying 'to make sure you don't doze off', but he made no comment. It was also explained to him, once again, that he would be paid by way of two square meals a day and a private room for his own personal use, as well as a small sum of money to go towards…stuff. Sword polish? He knew the other guards likely threw it away on Sake down the tavern in town, but that wasn't really his thing. Maybe he'd just save it up, or ask Sabūrō to put it away in some safe place or another until he needed it for something.

A couple of hours later, and Sabūrō was winding down and coming to a close. It was a good thing that he was, otherwise Ichigo might not have been able to resist falling asleep. "One last question, Kurosaki-san" Sabūrō was saying, and internally Ichigo rejoiced. "For how long have you known my son?"

Ichigo paused, it was a strange question; though he supposed he had to answer it. "A year, give or take a month or two" said he, there was no point in lying. Sabūrō must have noticed as soon as he entered the room that the two of them knew each-other, add to that the near-slip with the name and it was glaringly obvious.

Sabūrō pinned Ichigo with a level gaze. "And would you protect him from harm without hesitation?"

"Hai."

It had fallen from his open mouth without any conscious thought. Of course he would. That's what friends did.

"I see. Even if this was at the cost of your physical health?"

"Hai."

Sabūrō hummed thoughtfully, then turned to his son with another small smile. "You still know how to pick your friends, Jūshirō. Much better than I, when I was your age" Jūshirō grinned across at Ichigo. He knew that Ichigo would respond with something along those lines, as that was just the type of person he was. Sabūrō turned back to Ichigo and continued. "Considering your responses, I think you would do well here. Provided you perform well in the demonstration, of course. Though I'm sure you'll do fine, considering that's one of my swords you walked in here with."

Jūshirō inhaled another pastry crumb whilst Ichigo spat the water he'd just drunk back into the cup before any of it even made contact with the back of his throat.

Sabūrō simply chuckled at the both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Hey guys! Been a while since I last updated, I know, and right off the bat I'd like to say a huge 'Thank You' to all the people who have been following, favouriting, and reviewing this fic in the meanwhile! Hopefully, now that my ICT is properly sorted out, I can start giving regular updates. However, as time and experience has told me I will make no promises!  
**_

 _ **Review responses:**_

 **Merry Kitten: Shout out for you, my friend! Thank you for the positivity! Glad you like it, and I shall try to be a touch more regular in the future!**

 _ **Blackseal: I'm not actually sure about how to address the zero squad, though I only know for absolutely certain that the lady from the 12th will feature (can't remember her name off the top of my head, Hokifune?) Some of them seem to be from the original captain lineup, though I'm not certain. Thanks for the feedback!**_

 _ **Drakainen: Thanks! The zanpakuto issue will be brought up soon!**_

 _ **Sadistic Avacado: Remember, it isn't a sure thing yet! Still the physical assessment to do! I agree with you about Zangetsu, the Old Man'd spend hours in there given half a chance. Thanks for the feedback!**_

 _ **jcampbellohten: Thanks again for the feedback!**_

 _ **Accurcius: Thank you! That's the vibe I was going for Saburo, glad it came off! Also, Jii-san is appearing soon and we shall see whether you were right or not! I'll bear those points in mind as well, will make some of the tricky AU messing around stuff a lil bit easier.**_

 _ **sir636: You'll have to wait and see~**_

 _ **Ataraxia Device: There will be regular time-skips to bring us up to the events of Bleach, stopping at important bits and pieces along the way!**_

 _ **shininchioiyx: At the moment, I'm not going to have a pairing. Ichigo's just...Ichigo. I don't think that kind of thing really registers for him very well.**_

 _ **Queen Karin: Thank you~ I'm glad you like the descriptions, cos I like writing 'em! As for Ichigo's memories, I'm considering incorporating little bits and pieces- but there won't be anything that gives the plot away to him, at least in that sense. I agree about the pairings, I'm most likely not going to have one atm.**_

 _ **Lotusalchemist (What's the speciality!?): Glad you liked them, I enjoyed writing those parts. Ukitake is definitely my favourite captain, without doubt, and he's a strong contender for favourite overall character as well, so when I came up with this idea there was only one option really! Shunsui will be appearing very soooooon~**_

 _ **Alexzandria: Thanks! The pacing of this fic is very important, I feel, as there has to be certain things expanded on and elaborated. So I'm glad it's working for you! Thanks for the feedback!**_

 _ **Enjaji, Tylothos, Weeping Turtle, Hisoka's luver, Scarese, Jedi Master Albus, Parker Reid: Thank you, guys! The feedback is really appreciated and I'm glad you're enjoying it!**_

* * *

 **Rise of the Slaying Moon**

 **Chapter Three: Walking Sun**

* * *

With the verbal interview now complete, Ukitake Sabūrō led his eldest son and potential new guardsman back out the front door and into the manor grounds. Despite the hours that they had been talking, and choking on various bits of pastry, the sun was still high enough in the sky to keep any long shadows out of the gardens. This meant that Ichigo got the opportunity to see them in all their splendour for the second time, and the sight was still as breath-taking as it had been before- perhaps more so, now that he was coming from within the house. He wondered how Jūshirō could bare to leave such surroundings in order to spend time on a plain-old, grassy hill; he wasn't sure he'd be able to. From the front door one got a full view of the extensive flower beds. Now that the sun was hitting the eastern most wall half-way up, it made white stone glow slightly behind a dazzling array of blue and lilac flowers, creating a sort of blue-and-purple-tinted shimmer in the air. The colour explosion caused Ichigo's brain to slacken like a detuned banjo string and left him wondering when his jaw had made landfall. Thankfully a discreet nudge from Jūshirō brought him back to his senses, and the two of them made after the Ukitake patriarch.

Instead of walking back down the path to the front gate, Sabūrō led Ichigo and Jūshirō on the path that branched around the side of the house. This area, Ichigo noticed rather quickly, was a decisively plain affair when compared to the massive amount of colour he had seen elsewhere. Whereas at the front there were myriads of different tones and hues, this side of the house had only grass and walls with the occasional tree dotted about to offer shade from the sun. It was still well-maintained, meticulously trimmed and neat, but it was more restrained and minimalistic. Despite this, Ichigo still knew it was far nicer than anything he had ever seen outside the walls. Along the Eastern wall there was a long, low building that Sabūrō identified as the guard quarters- the side of which Ichigo could recall seeing from the front of the house, but understandably hadn't paid attention to it at the time. It was white, just like the walls, and had a slanted roof that was presumably to keep any of the rarely occurring rain from collecting and causing leaks. There was a double door near the centre, from which Ichigo assumed the rooms branched off to the left and right due to the windows that were dotted along the outward facing wall at regular intervals.

Sabūrō led them past this building as well, following the path as it curved sharply around the back of the house. This side of the grounds was almost as stunning as the front, though for an entirely different reason. It was huge. Grass dominated the space, with one large tree standing a lonely vigil in the middle surrounded by a kind of circular bench that hugged up close to the trunk in order to protect any who were to sit on it from the sun. The path also circled around this tree, with offshoots going to all edges of the garden, with two others -including the one they were walking on now- branching off to the east and west towards the closest sides of the house. Directly across from them, hidden slightly by the tree, there sat another long, low building. Rather than being set against the walls like the barracks, this building stood away from it. Furthermore, it was made of polished wood rather than stone, and had traditional sliding screen doors instead of the hinged ones seen on the main house and the guard quarters.

As they slowly approached this building, Ichigo properly registered for the first time just how extensive the grounds were. It had taken them a good few minutes just to get to the tree in the centre of the field from the eastern corner of the house, and the building they were walking to now was an equal distance away, meaning that the entire walk took a little over five minutes in total. Add to that the slightly wooded area with the barracks on the eastern side, and the extensive gardens at the front, _and_ a western area that Ichigo hadn't seen but assumed was there…it must have been the size of the town at least.

Noticing the awed expression on his friend's face, Jūshirō couldn't help but grin. He had been tempted to prepare, or at least attempt to prepare, Ichigo for this experience, but seeing his jaw dragging all the way around the grounds -Jūshirō was positive that would leave a nasty graze- was a far more rewarding experience. A part of his conscience scalded him for being purposefully cruel, but he dismissed the thought. He would make it up to Ichigo later, maybe with some sweet pastries from the kitchens. For now, he decided, he would make the most of this.

"The western side of the grounds are more extensive than this" said he, his casual tone masking his extreme amusement. "In fact, I would say they're even more beautiful than the garden at the front when the Sakura trees come into bloom. Wouldn't you agree, Otou-sama?"

Sabūrō cast a glance over his shoulder, saw the flabbergasted expression on Ichigo's face, and faced forwards again quickly to hide his smile. "Mm" he hummed in affirmative, "Truly breath-taking. I, personally, rather enjoy watching the moon shine across the koi ponds. The effect is almost ethereal, in a stunningly ironic way."

Ichigo stumbled suddenly. Is this what Jūshirō had? Was the gap between them truly this big?

"I'll show you around properly tomorrow, Ichigo" said Jūshirō, his good nature finally winning out. "It's been a while since I've fed the koi, in fact. It's a very therapeutic way to pass the time." This was entirely true, Jūshirō did indeed spend a great deal of time feeding the koi in the ponds for the very reason he had stated. It was a sort of mental release, and allowed him to think properly about subjects he might have been too preoccupied, or ill, to think about otherwise. Alternatively, he could not think at all and lose himself in the swirling works of art the fish made in the water as they swam about.

Ichigo could only nod dumbly in response, his head was still trying to get around the sheer size of this place, let alone the fact that Jūshirō whiled away the hours feeding fish in his own private gardens. He realized that he'd never seen his friend in this setting before, and it hit him properly for the first time that Jūshirō was actually a noble heir of some wealth, and yet he had still befriended a petty thief who lived in a shed with a hole in the wall. Ichigo felt, not for the first time, extremely glad to have a friend such as Jūshirō, he didn't have to be a genius to know people like the white haired, sickly, yet healthy hearted boy were very few and far between.

They continued to walk in silence after this, with Ichigo slowly regaining his composure whilst Jūshirō gave him the time he knew his friend needed to do so. If Ichigo was still having mild palpitations regarding the size of his family's grounds during the physical evaluation, he would certainly fail; something neither of them wanted to happen. Thankfully Ichigo was fully recovered by the time they reached the sliding screen doors a minute or so later, and had regained his composure enough to not trip over the slightly raised runners that the screen door moved on.

Sabūrō, meanwhile, had pushed the screen doors wide and was now making his way to the far side of the long, rectangular room to where three sitting cushions were placed. After giving his friend an encouraging smile, Jūshirō moved to join him; taking up the second out of the three seats on Sabūrō's right. Ichigo, meanwhile, stood in the centre of the room, having not been invited to sit, and fought a pitched battle with his urge to fidget. Ichigo had never been nervous before, it was an entirely new experience for him, but he knew the importance of what was about to happen. He knew that he had to prove himself to Sabūrō, or the opportunity that had been gift-wrapped and placed squarely in his lap would slip away and he would never get to know what could have been. He would go back to his shed, to his thieving, and a life of constant uncertainty and 'what-if's, he wasn't even sure if Jūshirō would be able to speak to him anymore if he were to fail.

No. He had to succeed.

So he packed his nerves into a very, very small box and placed that box in the corner of his brain reserved especially for things he had no desire to dwell upon. Then he squared his shoulders, relaxed his stance, and released a deep breath through his nose.

He would succeed.

Then, without warning, the sun crashed down to earth.

A moment ago, Ichigo could have sworn the temperature had been reasonable, a touch warm, but nothing that would make someone sweat unless they had been exerting themselves. Now, however, all he could feel was the most intense heat. His mind, for whatever reason, was transported back to that day two weeks ago, when the heat had been enough to make everything blurred and out of focus, the feeling he had now was similar and yet worse at the same time. What was more, the intensity of the heat seemed to be increasing steadily, as if the sun had now grown legs and was taking a stroll around the Ukitake manor for the soul purpose of making his life unbearable. He raised his eyes -a surprisingly difficult task- to glance at the other two occupants of the room. Jūshirō seemed to be struggling, his brow was furrowed and his breathing appeared to be laboured. Sabūrō, meanwhile, had a sort of resigned expression on his face that said to the world at large 'I'm going to have to deal with something I really don't want to be dealing with'.

No sooner than Ichigo had made this observation, the screen door was cast open and the sun itself strolled in. Ichigo had assumed that the sun would wear yellow, but instead it appeared to be wearing black and white robes and was carrying a sword. It also seemed to take the form of a menacing looking man with even more menacing looking eyes, framed by thick black brows and accentuated by a long scar that ran from the top of his forehead to just above his right eye. Upon the man's head was a ring of black hair surrounding the top of the scalp, and at the back of this ring there was a long tail, tied up in a traditional fashion. The man walked, much to Sabūrō's irritation, like he owned the place and took his time wandering over towards the third sitting cushion on Sabūrō's right.

As he walked past Ichigo it felt as if the air was melting, and suddenly he found it extremely hard to breathe. He emitted a harsh, raspy gasp that was so barely audible that the sound could have come from an insect.

Despite this, it appeared the mobile sun still managed to hear it. He stopped and glanced at Ichigo, and for the briefest moment Ichigo was standing in the centre of a burning star- then the heat simply vanished. Ichigo blinked, barely giving himself time to register that his lungs were working properly before he started taking great gulps of air, leaning over on his knees. He wondered at exactly what that had been, why the temperature seemed to be controlled by a crazy-looking old man and why said man had to appear _now_ of all times. The fairness of this situation seemed severely lacking.

Whilst Ichigo lamented the loss of his composure, the stranger continued his walk across the room with an ease of gait that belayed his imposing stature. "Ukitake-dono" _rumbled_ the man, Ichigo had to glance up to make sure he hadn't swapped places with a volcano, "I apologize for holding you up." He didn't look very sorry at all, in fact the entire sentence had been completed with a wolf-like grin, and he hadn't even bowed to show respect.

Unsurprisingly, Sabūrō had noticed as well, and his frown became intense enough to cause bodily harm. "In future, please refrain from doing so" it was as close to a snap as Ichigo ever expected to hear from the, thus far, calm and collected clan patriarch. "And please keep better control of your reiatsu, it effects my son's illness" Sabūrō indicated the still panting Jūshirō with a slight tilt of the head, and this time the crazy man did manage to look apologetic.

"My apologies for any harm done" said he, folding partially into a small bow. Ichigo expected that this was the best the man was capable of giving. He didn't seem to be one for showing respect to those of higher social status or caring about social status at all, and he certainly didn't appear to be a man known for making heartfelt apologies. The words hadn't sounded particularly sincere, but the bow was enough.

It seemed that Sabūrō had been following a similar train of thought, because he let out a long winded sigh and gestured to the remaining cushion. "As long as you restrain yourself in the future."

The man, now sitting upon his cushion, chuckled. "I'm not so accustomed to spending time amongst weaker souls. Most in the Seireitei can withstand my reiatsu…" he paused, then shrugged "…at least to some extent."

Sabūrō _scowled_ and the air seemed to become thick with tension. "This is not the Seireitei, Yamamoto-sōtaichō. Souls out here in the Rukongai are much weaker, something you should be well aware of", this statement was punctuated by a glare. Ichigo, watching the two interact, couldn't help but feel there was some sort of history between them. The look Sabūrō had on his face was one of long-suffering, not something that could be attained in one or two brief meetings, and this Yamamoto character appeared to be intentionally trying to piss Sabūrō off.

Yamamoto smirked, "It is no fault of mine that the souls out here have little spiritual power to speak of, why should I not be able to travel without concerning myself over my own reiatsu?"

"Because", Sabūrō sounded even more tense now, "as a Shinigami it is your duty to protect those people, which means refraining from suffocating them with your reiatsu! What is more, bandying about such power attracts hollows. How many did you leave in your wake on the journey here? How many have suffered at the hands of your callousness?"

There followed a heavy silence, during which Ichigo and Jūshirō exchanged a _look_. One that said 'I have no idea what's going on here but I don't want to risk asking'. It was clear the two of them had some kind of feud, a long standing one as well considering the heat that was injected into Sabūrō's voice and the heat that was _radiating_ from Yamamoto. Ichigo wondered, and not for the first time since Yamamoto had entered the room, just exactly what the old man was doing here. If he had understood correctly, and he was fairly sure he had, the man came from the Seireitei- the walled city that lay to the south of where they were now. If that was true, then Yamamoto had very little reason to come all the way out here to visit a minor noble clan, given the fact that the biggest ones around were sitting right on his doorstep. What was more, Ichigo could think of very little reason why a captain-commander of all things was taking an interest in his physical assessment. It wasn't like he could make people melt with his aura like Yamamoto could, though his scowl could make people sweat.

He doubted it was quite the same thing.

The staring contest between the two older men was ended abruptly when one of the guardsmen entered the room, and they reverted to watching the room at large as if nothing had happened, expressions placid and postures relaxed. The guardsman, having felt the positively murderous aura leave the room like a strong gust of wind when he opened the door, faltered slightly at the threshold- staring and blinking as if he just been informed Ukitake Sabūrō actually _had_ a temper, let alone one capable of snapping. Ichigo could sympathise, he was still trying to get his head around that himself.

After a moment more of owlish blinking, the guardsman gathered himself and dropped to a knee. "Ukitake-dono! Reporting as requested!" the man practically bellowed, Ichigo winced. He was quickly discovering he struggled with over-stated enthusiasm.

Sabūrō smiled, though there was still the ghost of the earlier tension to it. "Thank you for your punctuality, Sautsaki-san" the man beamed, almost splitting his head in half with the act, and fell into a complete -and vastly over-exaggerated- bow complete with sparkles.

"Of course, Ukitake-dono!"

"Now" Sabūrō deftly cut off any further yelling, "May I present to you Kurosaki Ichigo-san? He is applying for the vacant position." Ichigo scowled as the scrutinizing gaze of what he now knew to be the head guardsman fell on him.

How on earth was he going to be able to work under such a nut-job?

"I have already given him a verbal interview, and he understands completely how important the position is to the safety of my family. Furthermore, Jūshirō has been training him in the use of a sword for some time", Ichigo caught Jūshirō wincing, "and claims he is particularly competent. Perhaps you could evaluate this claim for me?"

The implication was clear. Ichigo's scowl morphed into a puzzled frown, he had been aware he would be facing a senior member of the guard- but the head-guard himself? It seemed a little much for an assessment.

"A wise decision, Ukitake-dono! I shall ensure the adequacy of the candidate as you request!" With that, Sautsaki turned to face Ichigo and all the joviality and over-the-top admiration disappeared in an instant. "Testing the mettle of potential recruits allows us to weed out any potential weak links in our protective chain. If you are not worthy of defending this household and those who dwell within, it will be revealed shortly. Prepare yourself, Kurosaki Ichigo!"

Without any further ado the head-guard launched himself into motion, coming at Ichigo with all the speed of a striking snake. As he approached at high speed, the katana Ichigo had observed strapped to his waist flew from its sheath and into an upwards slash aimed for Ichigo's midsection. Some may had considered the strike far too fast for someone with only two weeks training to defend against, in fact it could be suggested that the attack should have been far too fast for someone so inexperienced to even _see_. Ichigo, however, could see it. He could see it very clearly, so clearly that his own katana was freed of its sheath and blocking the strike far faster than anyone in the room had expected. To Ichigo, the attack had been flawless, but slow. If he had failed to block it, it would have surely rendered him unable to fight, but would have stopped short of killing him; which he assumed was the point. This was negated by the fact that Ichigo also felt he could have blocked it with his eyes shut.

Ichigo pushed Sautsaki's sword away and countered with a slash aimed for his opponent's neck, but Sautsaki jumped away before it got close enough to call it a hit. Ichigo decided to press his attack, however, and closed the distance again with a thrust towards the stomach that Sautsaki had to twist away from due to Ichigo being too close to effectively parry. He then turned the thrust into a slash, using his forwards momentum to carry him through whilst he swung behind him, all the while pivoting on his foot so that the attack itself followed through. This time, Sautsaki blocked the slash, and immediately jumped back before darting in again with a downwards strike that might have opened Ichigo's chest from neck to sternum had he not raised his katana horizontally in a block. Sautsaki pressed against Ichigo's defence for a few moments, testing its strength, then jumped back again when it became evident that it wasn't going to budge.

"Impressive, Kurosaki-san" said Sautsaki, falling into an attacking stance with his sword held in front of him. "Your speed is remarkable, for one of your height and build, yet your attacks still hold strength" his back foot shifted, "But I'm far from done!"

Sautsaki then launched another series of attacks that came with frightening speed. There was slashes aimed at every part of Ichigo's body intersected with regular thrusts towards his chest and stomach, and once towards his eye. Ichigo managed to block them all though, despite the speed and ferocity the attacks came with. In fact, it still felt easy.

Ichigo puzzled at this whilst absentmindedly blocking Sautsaki's attacks. The head-guard was clearly a very experienced swordsman, and his strikes were as precise as they were potentially deadly- but Ichigo couldn't help feeling as if he had seen and faced better. Much better. But why was that? He had only been training with a sword for two weeks, and while Jūshirō was good he wasn't as good as Sautsaki. Maybe it had something to do with that strange feeling, the feeling he got whenever he held his sword. Over the last two weeks it had been getting more intense, he had been progressing in his training so fast that Jūshirō was struggling to keep up with him by the time the two weeks was up. At times, Ichigo reflected as he deflected another thrust with a flick of the wrist, it was like there was a quiet voice in his head telling him what to do. When his swings were to slow, the voice would 'tell him' to increase his speed, when his defence was weak it would 'tell him' to make it stronger. Of course, there wasn't actually a voice in his head, that was just ridiculous.

Kurosaki Ichigo was not crazy.

'A voice in his head' was simply the best way to describe what the experience felt like. It never directly guided his hand, letting him make the necessary corrections himself, but it didn't leave him wondering what he was doing wrong when he messed up; it was like having a teacher, in a way.

As Ichigo blocked yet another swing, he noticed that Sautsaki's breathing had become laboured and his swings were slowing down. He had been on the defensive long enough to wear his over-enthusiastic opponent down. All that was left was to finish the fight.

 _Attack from the right Ichigo_

He did so, swinging horizontally at Sautsaki's side with great speed. The head-guard hastily blocked the swing and attempted to counter with a looping swing for Ichigo's shoulder, only to find it easily blocked. Ichigo then feinted to the right again, successfully fooling Sautsaki long enough for him to spin three-hundred degrees and place his sword against Sautsaki's neck.

There was a pause.

Then there came a clapping.

Ichigo glanced up in the direction the three non-combatants, noticing that the two Ukitakes were throwing questioning glances towards Yamamoto; the source of the clapping. Plastered on his face was a grin that stopped just short of predatory, and his eyes shone with something Ichigo couldn't place.

"Well fought, Kurosaki" said Yamamoto, punctuating his name with one final clap. "This fool didn't even know what hit him!" he laughed, a sound that heralded untold destruction in Ichigo's mind. He withdrew his sword from a now seething Sautsaki and replaced it in its sheath, then bowed to his opponent, who silently returned it.

"Indeed, well fought, Kurosaki-san" Sabūrō spoke up. "I believe that this concludes the physical assessment, unless Sautsaki-san has any objections?"

The man in question shook his head, "Absolutely none, Ukitake-dono!" he yelled, the previous slight already forgotten. Ichigo rolled his eyes, the man was an emotional mountain range; all peaks and valleys.

"Then let me be first to congratulate you, Kurosaki-san" Sabūrō smiled kindly, "You have proven yourself a very capable warrior, and I'd be a fool to turn down such talent."

"Too late for that" everyone turned to face Yamamoto, who heaved a sigh and stood from his cushion. "I shall take my leave, I've seen all that I needed to see." He strolled towards the door without even a by-your-leave, though from the look on Sabūrō's face he had expected such actions.

When he walked past Ichigo, however, he paused and turned his head to regard him with one, narrowed eye. Then, he quickly clapped Ichigo on the shoulder. "I meant it, kid, good fight. You should join the Gotei someday" he then removed his hand continued his walk. Ichigo, however, was not paying attention to this.

When the old man had touched him, it had felt as if someone had kicked him hard in the chest and forced all the wind out. Though he had managed to keep himself upright through sheer stubbornness, he had been mentally sent spinning; unable to gather himself until the hand was removed and Yamamoto had moved a sufficient distance away. All he been able to comprehend for those few seconds was an unbearable pressure, like someone had placed a great weight on his shoulders and then lifted it off again before his legs buckled beneath him. What was more, the pressure had _burned_. His body and his mind. It was like the heat coming from Yamamoto earlier, but condensed and intensified then injected straight into his bloodstream with a white-hot needle. The whole thing left him panting, wide-eyed and confused.

Understandably, therefore, he flinched violently when another hand landed upon his shoulder. When it withdrew again, Ichigo glanced up into the worried eyes of Jūshirō. "Ichigo?" the unspoken question was obvious, personified by the pensive frown and still hovering hand, poised as if to prevent Ichigo from falling.

"I'm…" Ichigo took a few more deep breaths, calming himself and recollecting his melted composure. "I'm alright" he managed a small smile that seemed to do a very poor job of reassuring Jūshirō, "Seriously, Jū, I'm fine!"

The hand that had been hovering at around shoulder height retreated, but the pensive frown remained. "You were completely out of it, I called several times."

Ichigo blinked, he hadn't realized how out of it he had been, nor for how long he had been out of it for. "Sorry, Jū" he didn't know what else to say. All he could think of at that moment was the sensation of having the sun rammed into one's stomach, if he thought about it he could remember being distinctly frightened.

Jūshirō perked an eyebrow. "You're apologising now? That must have been a traumatising experience…" the jab successfully brought Ichigo out of his dull thoughts.

"Oi!" he seethed, shaking a fist at his friend. "You make it sound like I never apologize for anything!"

"That's because you don't."

"Shut up!"

Unsurprisingly, Jūshirō let the matter drop after that.

* * *

Ichigo followed Sautsaki into the long, low guard barracks he had walked past earlier, taking a right straight through the door and heading to the end of a long, narrow corridor with doors all up the right-hand side. Shortly after Jūshirō had ascertained his health -through the medium of pressing his buttons- Sabūrō had declared that Ichigo would start working the very next afternoon, and dismissed him and Sautsaki with instructions to locate Ichigo's new quarters. This meant that he was away from Jūshirō's worried expression and questioning glances, and he could finally think about what Yamamoto had done to him.

Well…he _would_ be able to, once Sautsaki had stopped bouncing off the walls.

"Here we are!" exclaimed the head-guard, stopping in front of the door at the very end of the corridor. "This room belonged to your predecessor, but considering his conduct he will never be in a position to use it again! To think one could possess enough nerve to even _attempt_ to violate Haru-sama!" this was punctuated by a dramatic 'harrumph'. During his grumbling, Sautsaki had been fiddling with a key chain attached to his belt- going through a host of old, worn looking keys in search of the needed one. How he could tell them apart, Ichigo couldn't even begin to guess. They all looked exactly the same.

After some more jingling, and some further grumbling, Sautsaki pushed one of the keys into the lock and twisted to produce a soft 'click'.

"These are your new quarters, Kurosaki-san!" said he, strolling into the room and throwing open the curtains, allowing the setting sun to light the room. "A bit on the small-side, I know! We all must start somewhere, dear boy! But, for now, you must be exhausted! I shall let you have some peace and quiet to reflect on today's events!" With this he strode back to the door, throwing over his shoulder on the way out "Meet me in the southern gardens first thing tomorrow afternoon, and I shall begin your orientation!"

Then he was gone, taking his overbearing enthusiasm with him -though it did take some time to completely leave the room. It was like a smog.

Ichigo flopped down onto the- _his_ futon. It was a hard thing for him to get his head around, actually owning a space of his own. Though, he had to remind himself, technically it was Sabūrō's property; he was just letting it out to him in exchange for his service. Just as Sautsaki had pointed out, the space was small. Four metres long and three across, if he were any judge. His futon was rolled out along the left wall -facing in from the doorway- and along the other wall was a selection of hooks for the purpose of hanging up the uniform Sabūrō had promised him, along with a single rack for holding the katana Sabūrō had also promised him. That was another thing, Ichigo had never had a single coin to his name; he'd stolen what he'd needed to survive. The Ukitakes, however, had enough coins to _give_ him a _sword_. Not lend. _Give_. Sabūrō had made himself very clear on that fact, the sword would be his and he would be responsible for looking after it- by which Ichigo assumed he meant polishing it. The only other thing in his room worthy of note was the writing desk, which sat against the wall beneath the window. Ichigo wasn't entirely sure what he would need a writing desk for, but if the situation ever arose that required him to have one, he wouldn't have to go and find one.

His observations complete, he laid back on the futon and scowled at the ceiling. There was a lot to think about, he knew, the day having been as eventful as it was…but his mind kept going back to that awful sensation. He had tried to put words to it in his mind, both at the time and immediately afterwards, without much success- because it was just that: awful. Overwhelming pain and unbearable heat, and so much more besides, all at once. Did it have something to do with the man's aura, his reiatsu? If Ichigo thought hard enough, he could remember that it had been like all of the heat from when Yamamoto had first walked in pushed solely into the palm that landed on his shoulder.

Ichigo sighed and covered his eyes with a forearm, this was giving him a headache. He didn't know what Yamamoto wanted with him, for he assumed there was something, but whatever it was, he had a feeling, would _not_ be good.

It was with this thought in his mind that he fell asleep.

* * *

 _Ichigo…_

His eyes snapped open.

The first thing he noticed was that this certainly wasn't where he went to sleep, in fact he was fairly sure this wasn't the same world in which he went to sleep. Instead he was facing an ocean of _sand_ , stretching as far as the eye could see and probably much further. What was more, there was just sand and nothing else. No trees, no animals, no people, no houses…nothing. Above him was a clear blue sky, wall-to-wall, the only occupant of which was an ashen-white sun. He frowned, thinking that the sun should have had more colour to it.

 _Ichigo…_

Startled, he spun around in a circle, scanning for the source of the voice. He hadn't been sure of it at first, as he had still been partially asleep, but now he knew for certain that the voice was there. It was hard to make out over the strong wind that whipped up sand into his eyes, but he could make out his name. How did they know his name?

More importantly: where was he?

 _Ichigo…_

He growled low in his throat, he hated being pissed about like this. "Who are you!?" he yelled to the sand in general. He didn't even try to shout in the right direction, it sounded as if the voice was coming from everywhere at once.

 _Ichigo…_

He growled again, louder this time. "Where am I!?" his voice rose in volume; the volume of the wind rose with it. "Answer me, damnit!"

 _Ichigo…_

"That's not a damn answer, bastard!"

 _Ichigo…_

"Can you even hear me!?" He was confused, so desperately confused. This whole situation made no sense. He could remember very clearly going to sleep in a room that was very noticeably lacking in sand, and wind, and mysterious, creepy, coming-from-everywhere-at-once voices. What was more, it seemed as if the wind speed was continuously rising, whipping up the sand more, and more until eventually it had formed a massive whirlwind with him at the epicentre.

He was trapped.

Then a silhouette appeared in the storm, whether standing on the outside or inside the twisting sand itself Ichigo couldn't tell. All he could make out was a vaguely human shape.

 _Ichigo, can you hear me?_

"Yes!" he yelled at the figure, "Yes I can hear you! What's going on!?"

 _Ichigo…can you hear me? My name is…"_

"What!?" he screamed, "I don't…I can't hear you!"

 _Ichigo…_

The sandstorm was closing in. It's walls getting closer and closer with every passing moment, seeming to suck all the air from the area still within it.

Ichigo screamed when it caught him.

* * *

Several hours later found Ichigo yawning and leaning most of his weight against the spear he'd been provided for his shift, watching the vacant road with even more vacant eyes. He had been standing as such for three hours, and had been on duty for eleven; meaning that darkness had long since fallen. This also meant that he was unspeakably tired. It turned out that his stressful experience the night prior had been a dream, or more accurately a nightmare, but he had only comprehended this fact _after_ he had woken up sweating and clasping twisted sheets.

It had _looked_ real, and it had _felt_ real as well. Even now Ichigo could remember clearly the sensation of sand whipping against his face, of a wind that seemed to come from every direction at once. He could still hear the echo of that voice in his mind, the faint whisper on the wind that barely reached him yet still reverberated around his skull. Why hadn't the voice been able to hear him? Had it been the raging winds? Surely if that were so he wouldn't have been able to hear it at all, and he had been shouting at the top of his lungs whilst the unknown voice showed no signs of strain whatsoever.

Ichigo groaned and massaged his head, thankful that he was alone for this particular shift.

Despite this gate being the main entrance to the Ukitake grounds, it was not guarded by two people after the tenth hour in the evening; nor were any of the other points around the grounds. Instead, the guards were spread out along the walls to make sure nobody tried to slip over them under the cover of darkness. For a complete madman, Ichigo had thought upon learning this, Sautsaki was actually fairly switched on. The head-guard had been Ichigo's partner that day for the purpose of orientation, and had explained the key points of how everything worked with complete efficiency born with an ease of long practice. Within the span of eight hours Ichigo knew everything he needed to know: where he needed to be and at what times, proper protocol for receiving visitors (expected and unexpected), procedure when the grounds came under attack, protocol for protecting members of the household when 'abroad', etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

What Ichigo _hadn't_ been told the protocol for was 'dealing with crippling boredom', he would have to ask Sautsaki about it.

Another interesting thing he'd learnt was that the purpose of the large, metal spear he was currently leaning on was not, in fact, combat. It was an instrument for keeping unknowns away from one's person until such a time at which they can be deemed a threat or not a threat. At the point at which an unknown was deemed a threat, the spear was an initial attacking implement which could be quickly discarded in favour of the, much more practical, katana that was currently strapped to Ichigo's waist. If anything, this made Ichigo feel better because now he knew he wasn't expected to use the spear as a primary weapon, and therefore didn't have to do any form of training in its use; meaning more rest time.

Ichigo yawned again, wondering whether half-an-hour had passed yet. He hadn't really known what to expect when he'd started first thing that afternoon, but staring at the same patch of earth for four hours somehow hadn't registered as an option. He wondered idly at how much convincing, or sweet pastry, it would take to get Jūshirō to stand with him for this last part. At least before he had had Sautsaki rambling happily in his ear to take away some of the monotony, even if said rambling got extremely irritating at times.

Ichigo sighed, just standing out here by himself was torture. Boredom aside, it was just so very… isolated. Ichigo couldn't remember a time when he had sighed this much within a span of four hours.

Thankfully, however, he was starting to hear movement in the grounds behind him, indicating -he hoped- that the next shift was rousing themselves. He was fairly sure they would leave themselves half an hour to eat something before coming out, so he guessed that was how long he had left to stand still and stare at a deserted road as if there were something utterly interesting on it.

So he stood there and waited, counting the seconds more than watching the road, until finally he heard the sweet sounds of a well-oiled hinge announcing that the gate behind him was opening. It only opened a small amount, just enough to allow a person passage through it, and from within the walls his replacement emerged, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Mornin'" said the other guard, reaching out to accept the spear Ichigo had shoved eagerly towards him. "Anything happen?"

Ichigo grunted tiredly, "No."

His counterpart sighed, almost sounding resigned. "Aa… nothing ever does" another sigh. Then he glanced over at Ichigo, realizing for the first time that he'd never seen him before. "You're the new guy, right?" Ichigo nodded slowly, "You get used to it, the 'nothing happening' bit I mean. Still boring as hell sometimes but, hey, it pays well, right?"

Ichigo, despite his fatigue, could see what the guy was trying to say and grunted in affirmative, too tired to form the necessary shapes his mouth required to make coherent words.

The other man laughed. "Go get some sleep, ya look like crap" said he, waving a hand at Ichigo in clear dismissal. Ichigo happily complied.

Or at least, he tried to.

He managed to successfully get through the gate without walking into it, and half-way down the path towards the house without tripping over his leaden feet. The treacherous seeds of hope began to flower in his mind as he thought of the warm bed roll waiting in his room, and how he'd be far too exhausted to dream tonight.

Then the door opened, revealing a very-much-awake Jūshirō. The hope garden was trampled mercilessly.

"Ichigo!" his friend called out, descending the one step to the path and briskly walking over to him. Ichigo attempted, valiantly, not to look too grumpy lest his friend take it personally. "Your shift just finished, yes?" Ichigo nodded and offered a tired smile, "Then would you like to see the western gardens? Normally I would wait until the morning, but it's a full moon", Jūshirō motioned up towards the object in question, "And the ponds can be quite stunning at such a time."

Ichigo's smile was like glass, he was at a loss. On the one hand he was so tired he was fairly sure he could fall asleep on a bed of nails and not wake up, yet on the other hand Jūshirō looked particularly enthusiastic about this and Ichigo was loathe to turn him down. He realized his friend was likely exited to show him around his home for the first time, especially considering he was going to be living here for the conceivable future. Despite his nature Ichigo got the impression that Jūshirō didn't have many friends, or at least didn't keep many. Whether that was due to his illness, or due to the fact that his illness didn't permit him to stray far from the grounds on any basis that might be considered 'regular' Ichigo didn't know. What he did know was that turning Jūshirō down now might hurt him, and he simply could not bring himself to do that.

"Sure" Ichigo replied, feigning casual enthusiasm in order to hide some of his fatigue and mostly succeeding. "Lead the way."

Jūshirō gestured for Ichigo to follow him and wandered out onto the lawns to the right of the path, Ichigo falling into an easy step beside him. They walked in a companionable silence, the only sounds permeating the night air being the soft padding of sandaled feet on grass and the barely audible sounds of breathing. The night, Ichigo noticed now he wasn't so focused on his own boredom, was a pleasant one. The air was crisp but not cold, and there was only the slightest hint of a breeze wafting gently over their heads and across their shoulders, not even enough to ruffle clothing such was its softness. At the edge of what could be considered the northern gardens was a pool of shallow water, in which Ichigo could make out the tall, shadowed forms of reeds and the faint outline of water lilies, overshadowed by the dark form of a bridge spanning the gap between shores. By the light of the moon he could make out the soft ripples the floating lilies were creating, and how they drifted idly towards the edge of the pool. If the koi ponds Jūshirō wanted him to see were even half as tranquil, Ichigo figured the trip would be worth it.

The two continued past the pond and towards what Ichigo assumed to be the Western Gardens. At first, all he could see was a small summer house slung low against the horizon, and an expanse of grass on his left that he identified as the sizable southern fields, with one the many paths that came from the great tree arrowing towards the same building they were currently approaching. Jūshirō's chosen route was eventually intercepted by this path, and they stepped onto it, following it around the building to front of the building.

When they reached the front Ichigo's jaw impacted the floor at terminal velocity.

He hadn't been able to see anything from behind the building because the ground in front of it sloped downwards sharply, allowing the fairly modest summer house to hide what Ichigo _knew_ to be one of the most amazing things he'd ever seen. Before him was a veritable _forest_ of trees, some clumped together in small groups whist others stood in the gaps between them like bridges. Then, as if the trees by themselves weren't enough, there were ponds regularly dotted amongst them with a neat network of paths leading to each of them.

"You'll like it better when they bloom" said Jūshirō, who had been standing quietly next to Ichigo and allowing him to take in the sight. "All of these are Sakura trees. Around April this area of the gardens is the most beautiful, when the Sakura blossom it's like a sea of pink." He smiled somewhat wistfully, Ichigo would have to wait another ten months to see them in all their glory.

Though, he reasoned as his smile became less wistful and more amused, Ichigo seemed taken enough with them as they were. His friend's jaw was yet to leave the floor, and his eyes were as wide as one of his Otou-sama's best pastry plates. "This…this is amazing" Ichigo managed to force out after a time, voice quiet to such a degree that the light breeze almost carried it away.

Jūshirō laughed softly, he had been expecting a similar reaction; given how Ichigo had been gaping all the way around north, east, and south portions of the grounds. He made a motion for Ichigo to follow him, and led him down the steps needed to traverse the steep embankment. "The koi ponds glow if you stand in the right places, sadly the top of the bank is at the wrong angle" said he, reaching the bottom of the steps and choosing one of the curving paths at random. "They're much better to look at up close, regardless. It's hard to see the koi themselves from up there; much less feed them."

From within the folds of his Yukata, Jūshirō produced two neatly folded bags and passed one of them to Ichigo, whom managed to break off from his gawping long enough to check the contents. Inside the bags were an assortment of diced carrots and lettuce from the kitchens, fine enough for a fish to eat without choking, he guessed. Ichigo still raised an eyebrow at the vegetable matter, yet said nothing. After all, who was he to question the dietary habits of fish?

A few minutes later the two of them were standing on a small, wooden bridge suspended over a pond which rested a small distance away from the embankment, and once again Ichigo was struck speechless. This bridge must have been positioned intentionally at one of the angles Jūshirō had mentioned earlier, because from here the pond was _glowing_ with the light of the moon. The surface of the pond was iridescent, punctuated by ripples and the excited splashing of the koi as Jūshirō threw spreads of food down for them. It was then Ichigo noticed the patterns the koi were making in the water, uncoordinated and yet remarkably precise at the same time. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out patterns.

"This is where I come when my illness flares up" Jūshirō stated suddenly, almost casually, breaking the steady silence between them.

Ichigo frowned momentarily. There had been, since Jūshirō had told him of his illness, an unspoken agreement between them not to make a big deal out of it. Even when Ichigo had been angry at the unfairness of it all, and frustrated he could do nothing about it they had said nothing on the subject until Jūshirō had had enough of lingering frustration in the air. So the fact that his friend had brought it up now was strange, Ichigo wondered whether he had planned it.

He offered a small 'Mm' sound by way of reply, realizing that he hadn't done so after nearly two seconds.

"Of course, there are days when I cannot even leave the house" Jūshirō's tone was dangerously close to bitter, making Ichigo tense slightly and ready a heated retort to whatever admission of weakness he hoped his friend _wasn't_ about to utter. "But those days are thankfully few."

Ichigo relaxed a touch, Jūshirō wasn't one for negativity, and hearing such a tone seeping into his friend's voice had been jarring to say the least. "Aa, I can see why" said he after a short pause, gesturing to the pond.

"It's calming" Jūshirō nodded his agreement, "therapeutic even. For a while the fits simply stop coming, it's like there's an…aura about the place."

Ichigo nodded, looking about him. There was such a sense of peace in the air that he couldn't help but agree, it was very tranquil. He glanced over at Jūshirō, for a moment taken by the temptation to ask his friend why he was telling him this, but he thought better of it. If Jūshirō had a reason, he would have told Ichigo what it was by now; that was just the type of person he was. It seemed he was telling Ichigo for no reason other than the fact he would listen, and that he trusted Ichigo not to show contempt or malice.

Suddenly, Jūshirō pointed out a specific koi. "That's Ilaniya" said he, following the fish with his finger so Ichigo wouldn't miss it. "She's the only one I named, though I'm not entirely sure why" he laughed, a little sheepishly, when Ichigo threw him a sceptical look.

"You nobles really are strange" said Ichigo, completely deadpan.

"We can have our eccentricities."

"Sounds like another word for 'strange' to me…"

Jūshirō laughed quietly, "I suppose so, though it would be even more strange for me to have names for every single koi in the gardens."

Ichigo grinned, "True. Besides, you'd probably lose track of 'em all."

"And if I were to write a list?"

"Then you'd be a crazy nobleman that names all of his hundreds of fish, and I'd probably stop associating with you" said Ichigo with a grin that belayed his serious tone.

Jūshirō laughed again, louder this time. "Then I suppose I'll spare you the trouble of avoiding me within my own grounds and have just the one named koi."

Ichigo snorted in response, and after that there was a curious sort of pause. Everything became naturally still, and yet the sounds around the pond seemed to grow more audible. Trees rustled, koi splashed, water rippled and lapped at the edge of the pond. Neither of the two spoke, they didn't feel any need to, and so instead they stood in silence for a while, watching the koi in the ponds and how the moon splayed across the water. Eventually, when Ichigo's eyes simply refused to stay open any longer, Jūshirō led the way back towards the house, at which point they parted ways to go back to their respective quarters.

True to the nature of the koi ponds, Ichigo's sleep was peaceful that night.

* * *

Ichigo's true initiation to the Ukitake Household Guard came five months later. It was the first day of December, and as such the rotations had been shuffled about -as they were every month- so that a few of those who had been pulling nightshifts before were now doing the morning shift, and those they had swapped with had now taken their places on the nightshift. Ichigo was one of those lucky people whom got shuffled onto the morning shift this month, and so he was up 'bright' (dark) and early to take up his post and relieve the one who'd taken his place a couple of days prior. He ate a quick breakfast curtesy of the house kitchens and was out patrolling the walls within half-an-hour, expecting this particular day to be just like any other.

Indeed, his first stint passed without incident, and he switched places with the guard further down the wall without any hassle at all; just like any other day. The majority of his second stint proceeded in much the same fashion as well, with the first clue that today was _not_ going to be just like any other day coming near the end of it.

He had been walking up and down the paths around the southern part of the grounds, occasionally taking breaks to sit under the tree in the centre and look at the sky as he usually did when patrolling this area. They were so massive that one found themselves needing a break every now and again, lest they tire themselves out with another five hours left on their shift. It was during one of these breaks that he noticed the approach of Sautsaki, who was striding down the path in such a fashion that Ichigo decided that maybe the head-guard was looking for him. He quickly stood up and made a show of looking around, just in case Sautsaki had caught him gazing at the sky, but was surprised when the other man simply waved him back down.

"Do not let me interrupt your rest, Kurosaki-san!" shouted Sautsaki, coming to a halt before Ichigo with an understanding smile on his face. "Everyone does the same thing, the southern grounds being as extensive as they are! Do not feel embarrassed!"

Ichigo sighed and rolled his eyes in response, by now he was used to Sautsaki's antics and knew the older man could really care less about what others thought of him. Ichigo was also yet to see the man truly shout, despite his permanently raised voice. He had heard stories, of course; the other guards loved to gossip. Most of them involved some individual or another insulting, however unintentionally, Ukitake Sabūrō or his family, which then usually escalated to the head-guard shouting numerous obscenities about the offending party/parties and their respective lineage. Ichigo would have gladly paid money to see such a thing.

Uncaring about his subordinate's blatant disrespect, Sautsaki continued. "I have come to inform you that, during your time watching over the main gate this morning, we will be receiving a visitor from another noble clan!" Ichigo raised an eyebrow, he'd never had to deal with this before; having managed to avoid all other visitors (of which there weren't many) thus far. "I am aware that this is your first time welcoming a guest, but do not worry! For you have been briefed on such matters by myself and Ukitake-dono! With such instruction, what could possibly go wrong!?" With this Sautsaki began walking back the way he came, "Good luck, Kurosaki-san!"

Ichigo, like every other time Sautsaki interacted with him, had to wait a few moments for his brain to catch up, by which time Sautsaki was already rounding the corner to the eastern section of the grounds. When he said 'used to Sautsaki's antics', what he meant to say was 'able to not jump out of his skin whenever Sautsaki emerged shouting from the nearest dark corner'; which had happened on a few occasions. Testing his reflexes, he said.

Trying to give him a heart attack, said Ichigo.

At present, however, Ichigo was left with the knowledge that he would likely have to welcome a guest, but not the knowledge of who that guest was. According to Sabūrō, addressing visitors properly was essential, and yet he could not do this without knowing their name first. Ichigo muttered a curse to himself, tilting his head back to hit the trunk of the tall tree. He'd just have to wing it, and if he got it wrong he would just have to apologise and hope whoever it was didn't take mortal offense.

He spent the next hour-and-a-half trying not to worry too much, reminding himself that it would be past eight o'clock and he'd have another guard with him. Eight o'clock was the point at which Sautsaki deemed the night to be truly gone at the moment, and as such the guards were doubled up again rather than spread out. They could see further past that time, and therefore didn't necessarily need to be in two places at once to properly patrol the walls. Ichigo took some solace in this fact, knowing that -as the newest member of the guard- all his colleagues would have more experience.

So when the call to change position was sounded, Ichigo was quietly confident that he'd avoid being executed on the spot for insulting seventeen long-dead ancestors and the family cat. He strolled out the main gate, making sure to shut it behind him, and took up his position on the left-hand side of it, sending a nod to the man standing on the other side.

The two didn't interact whilst they stood there, as it was well known that Ichigo didn't speak to anyone outside of Jūshirō, and occasionally Sabūrō when the Ukitake patriarch came to check up on the newest addition to his guard. Everyone also knew that Sautsaki didn't count. _He_ spoke to _you_ , and rarely the other way around. The other guards were content to let Ichigo be, he did his job well and seemed reliable enough; which was more than good enough for them. Plus, it didn't seem as if he liked drinking _or_ like hehad any decent stories either, so he'd probably be pretty boring anyway.

Ichigo was happy to let them think what they wanted, it just meant nobody tried to bother him when he didn't want to be bothered. Which was to say: he never wanted to be bothered. Jūshirō was the lone exception to this rule, because Jūshirō didn't _bother him_. He was a friend, and Ichigo was happy to make time for him.

The two of them, Ichigo and the other guard, had been standing there for nearly the two full hours, and nothing had happened yet. Ichigo was starting to wonder at whether something had happened to these visitors, or whether something had delayed them. Maybe someone had robbed them? Assassinated them? Maybe someone had misinterpreted the letter, Jūshirō had shown him a letter from another noble family once and the language was so contrived and formal that he'd been unable to make sense of it. Therefore, it wasn't a far stretch for Ichigo to believe that someone in the household could have thought the visitors were coming today when, in fact, they were coming in a decade's time. He probably would have made the same mistake.

He was distracted from his musings by a fidgeting in his peripheral vision, and supressed a sigh so heavy it formed a small hurricane in his mouth. Over the past ten minutes or so his fellow had been increasingly restless, and judging by the number of times the man had crossed and uncrossed his legs whilst still standing up, Ichigo believed he had a very good idea as to why. However, he didn't say anything. This was a grown man in question, if he couldn't take care of such things properly then Ichigo doubted he would have made the grade under Sautsaki. There couldn't be much time left in his shift, he could wait until it was over.

His compatriot changed positions again, the rustling of cloth making Ichigo's eyebrow twitch a little.

A minute later, the cloth rustled again. The twitching intensified.

Another two minutes, and the sound of cloth dragging against cloth as the man changed positions _yet again_ was threatening to give Ichigo a mild aneurism.

One minute later, the rustling sound came again. Ichigo had had enough.

"Yo…" said he, voice deceptively controlled and calm even as the rustling persisted. "If you need to go piss hurry up and go already." How he had managed to keep his voice level for a whole sentence was a mystery, even to him.

The other guard glanced at him with a sheepish smile, "I-I can hold it, don't worry."

Ichigo shook his head, "No, no. You don't understand. I'm telling you: go take a piss." His voice had begun to shake the tinniest bit and he began to emit a dangerous aura, which hung in a cloud above his head. The sound of rustling cloth, once again, permeated his eardrums. "HURRY UP AND GO!"

The other man blanched, just now noticing the ominous clouds hanging above Ichigo's head, occasionally spitting out bolts of lightning annoyance. He quickly scampered off behind the gate when Ichigo turned a scowl that promised impending doom his way, leaving Ichigo alone before the gates to the Ukitake grounds. He breathed a sigh of relief and moved to stand in the centre of the road, as he would when he was guarding the gate by himself, and leant heavily against his spear. By now he imagined there was only twentyish minutes left of his shift, and the visitors had still not appeared. It wasn't as if he could have missed them either, Sabūrō had told him to expect an entourage whenever another noble family visited. There would be guards, a small number of servants, and of course the visitors themselves in some kind of formation that would be extremely hard to overlook. Ichigo pondered for a moment, with all of those people it wasn't hard to imagine that they might be delayed. Such an entourage would probably be slow-moving, after all.

A few more minutes past, and Ichigo was just about to let himself believe he was off the hook when suddenly, he saw someone approaching. At first, all he could see was what appeared to be a small dome bobbing up and down just below the brow of the hill, then the dome began to rise above the downwards curve of the road to reveal that it was, in fact, a hat. Underneath that hat, it eventually became evident, was a young man that was, physically, as old as Jūshirō and himself with long brown hair and an almost insignificant, wispy moustache framing his upper lip. What caught the eye mostly was what the young man was wearing: a bright pink, flowery yukata tied with a teal obi, plus the aforementioned hat. From a distance it made the man look quite ridiculous.

Ichigo's primary concern at that moment, however, was the fact that he was walking directly towards the main gates of the Ukitake compound, and -by extension- him. He stopped leaning on the spear and set himself firmly, his feet planted shoulder width apart. The walking fashion-statement was getting progressively closer, and Ichigo could now see that he wore a genial smile whilst his eyes remained conspicuously hidden. A minute later, and he had drawn to a stop a small distance before Ichigo, who had his hand tightly wrapped around the shaft of his spear.

A hand appeared from within the folds of the stranger's yukata and pushed up the Sugegasa hat to reveal a pair of smiling, grey eyes. "Yare yare…what's with that stern look?" questioned the man in what sounded suspiciously like a pout. "I thought you guys were expecting me…"

Ichigo blinked. 'Expecting him'? Why would they be expecting him? The only people they were expecting today were visitors from another noble clan, and while this man wore clothes of a finer thread it was plain to see that he was no noble.

Ichigo decided to be direct, he'd always liked direct. "Why'd we be expecting you?"

The stranger looked slightly puzzled, but the expression was promptly hidden behind the genial smile again. "Well…" he placed a finger against his chin and looked up at the sky, as if in thought, "I sent a letter to Jū-chan a week ago saying we should catch up some time…and I could've sworn I got one back saying to come today…" The thoughtful look was replaced by a sheepish looking grin, "I might have lost the letter though" said he, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and laughing. "I've never been any good with little bits of paper."

Ichigo, meanwhile, was distinctly unimpressed. "You expect me to believe that?" he asked, levelling the spear at the man in a move he hoped would ward him off.

Instead the man simply reached out and pushed the point away, "Whoa! Careful" said he with a cheerfully oblivious expression, "You might take someone's eye out with that." He chuckled, which only served to annoy Ichigo.

"Oi! Don't play dumb! I'm telling ya to get out of here!" he pushed the point towards the man again, only to find it pushed away once more.

"But Guard-san" the man whined, drawing out the 'san' to extraordinary length, "I'm sure Jū-chan wouldn't mind if-" the point of the spear cut him off again.

"Shut up! I said get lost!" Ichigo chose to be a touch more aggressive now, and jabbed the spear towards the stranger in the hopes of getting him to back away. The actual result, however, was a little unexpected.

Instead of backing away like Ichigo wanted him to, the man jumped up and -in a remarkable display of balance- landed on the shaft of Ichigo's spear, guiding it all the way to the floor with his weight without falling off.

"I thought I said you should be careful with that, Guard-san" suddenly, most of the joviality had drained from the stranger's voice to leave behind only the ghost of his previous tone. His grey eyes had hardened under the shade of his hat, and Ichigo noticed that his stance had become slightly less relaxed.

Ichigo glared at him, signature scowl forming on his features. This guy had shown up, claiming to be invited by whoever 'Jū-chan' was, and thinks he can just waltz right in without having it confirmed first? He'd got some serious nerve, Ichigo would give him that much.

Just as he was opening his mouth to issue another warning, something along the lines of 'I've got a sharp pointy thing strapped to my waist, would you like to see it?', the gate swung open.

There, in the now open gateway, stood Jūshirō.

"Jūshiro!" called Ichigo with a hint of warning, just as the stranger called a jovial "Hey there, Jū-chan!"

Ichigo whirled on his quarry, "Jū-chan!?" Then he whirled back around to face a groaning Jūshirō, whom had the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, "Jū-chan!?"

Jūshirō, still massaging the bridge of his nose, spoke in a commanding tone. "Ichigo, put the spear down" it certainly wasn't a request. Ichigo dropped the spear, sending the stranger stumbling and attempting to keep his hat from falling off. "You would have saved yourself some trouble if you had just asked him to fetch me, Shunsui."

The stranger, Shunsui, raised a hand to the back of his head once more. "I did mention your name, but Berry-chan here", Ichigo squawked, "Didn't seem to recognize it though" said he, the serious attitude from a few moments ago gone in an instant.

"That's because nobody asides from you calls me 'Jū-chan', Shunsui" Jūshirō released his, now red, nose and sent his long-time friend a deadpan expression. "Not only that, but I believe you may have broken him" he continued, gesturing to a now prone Ichigo whom was muttering something that sounded vaguely like 'Berry-chan' and twitching slightly.

Shunsui chuckled, at least having the wherewithal to sound slightly abashed. "Aa…sorry about that, Jū-chan. Though, I've got to ask, is he a friend of yours?"

Jūshirō simply nodded, groaning again.

This wasn't how he'd wanted his two closest friends to meet.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:**_ **What's up guys? Sorry for the...ever-so-slight delay on this chapter, especially after I said they would be more regular -back in April. I won't make any excuses, and henceforth it'd be best to not have any expectations on chapter uploads. They'll get done, and that I will promise, but they might take some time -given the length. Bi-monthly? Maybe? Seems to be the norm with long, multi-chapter fictions with a decent word count.**

 **As always, a huge 'Thank You' to all the people that have been following, favouriting, and reviewing in my absence! Your support keeps the story alive!**

 **Review responses:**

 **MerryKitten: At this stage of his life, I think everything he does has a kind of 'GOT-LOTR' vibe about it. He's ancient, horrifically powerful, and vein -all in equal measure! I expect he would have whisked Ichigo away under _any other_ circumstances. He was probably cackling and cursing! I've been so excited about introducing Shunsui, that encounter had been playing out in my head all day when I eventually got around to writing it -so I'm glad you liked it!**

 **Enjali- I couldn't imagine him reacting any other way, going off of the example of the earliest Bleach chapters!**

 **Alqui- You're not the first person to point out that kinda-sorta typo...it was pointed out to me in beta actually, and I liked it enough to keep it there. Not for any narrative purpose, mind. Just thought it was amusing! Yes, I was referring to FMA. Though I notice your name's since changed. My guess at the time was something to do with explosives.**

 **Hollow Reaper123- The pairing thing has been shelved, for now. I just can't think of any _believable_ way to make one work, whilst ensuring that this story still holds water. If one springs to mind later on, then sure, but I doubt it'll be that one. As someone eloquently pointed out to me before, Ichigo would be 'whipped' if he and Retsu were a pairing.**

 **John Campbell Ohten: From you, the 'so-far great' review must be shining! I joke, and thanks for your input! I did go a touch over-board with the rain clouds, but hey. Anime tropes have a place in the world, and now it's been used I won't use it again. The Kuchiki clan thing was almost intentional, I felt that his entrance would be all the better for it. Their interactions are going to be fun to write: from which you can take that I haven't started yet, and you'd be partially right. This story is more off-the-cuff than I'd like to admit. Yes, Yama will be the lynch-pin for all of their development. Which likely means that Ichigo will have to call him 'sensei'. Brace yourself.**

 **Forgotten Cross: As if he would! He'd get someone to do it for free!**

 **Landocali: Hopefully you didn't have to trawl too far! The community pages are a great place to go for all the best stories! Check out Coolio's 'To Walk Two Lifetimes' if you haven't already, as well. Along with Coolio's other stories, very enjoyable.**

 **Hisoka's luver: No they aren't attending the academy currently, this is before that. As to what Yama-jii did, you'll have to wait and see. It will be explained! Glad you liked it!**

 **Arxheologist: Glad the progression works! It's very important for the story in general, given how much time we have to cover! Unfortunately, I am classically educated when it comes to literature. I break up the paragraphs when I feel as if they need breaking up, people may just have to pay attention! Ichigo & Co. look around eighteen at the end of this next chapter, however, this will be changing frequently. I'll likely provide descriptions when they've changed enough to make them necessary. Thank you! I love imagery! Take a lot of time to write them because of it!**

 **Accursius: HAIL! He needed to make a sufficient entrance, no? Sorry for the delays as well, I'll stop making promises now! The young Yama scene was a joy to write, because we never really see him during his 'free and easy' days, so it was all up to interpretation based on what we know already. A lot of improvisation! No, Sautsaki isn't a Japanese name. Why? Because I made it up. Maybe there is a relation, it'd make sense -when you think about it. I think the revelations surrounding the Ise house are important enough to keep, despite my desire to not acknowledge any of the Bleach story after the end of the Winter War.**

 **Doctor Dandy: It won't be that way for ever!**

 **A Nameless Ghost: Sorry to keep you waiting. Glad you enjoyed it! Ah, yes: Ichigo's hollow. We will see. Consider this, however: Ichigo has been jumped, not only backwards in time, but also to a completely different timeline. One could almost say it's a 'parallel universe'. For this reason, Ichigo's soul is _technically_ new. However, what this does to his inner world and spirits is yet to be seen, or is it? You might have caught a glimpse already. As always, this will be explained later on.**

 **Tealovingshrinemaiden: Ichigo is currently Nineteen, if you count the years he spent in the living world. Which most people in Soul Society don't. In which case he's coming up to two years old at the end of the last chapter. Jushirou is around Thirty years old, and Shunsui is around about Thirty-Five. None of them are keeping track of this, however, as it's pretty-much just a number here.**

 **The Dark Eupie: You can count on it!**

 **Sandaime Hockage, Peluche Kawai, Sakurayuri89, Sagar Hussain, The Weeping Turtle: Thank you so much! Gland you all enjoyed it!**

 **That's...that's a lot of reviews...thank you all so much, and hopefully you're still around to read this. Now, without further ado...**

 **Disclaimer: Please. As if I could ever write something as good as Bleach.**

* * *

 ** Rise of the Slaying Moon**

 **Chapter Four: Dream-scapes**

* * *

The hair-raising sound of steel clashing against steel, along with the gentle impression of feet swishing through neatly trimmed grass, and the soft whisper of breath leaving the mouth were what accompanied a dance of beautifully controlled lethality. It permeated the soft, morning air like the delicate scent of forest pine after rainfall, gentle and unobtrusive. Yet, simultaneously, it carried with it all the dangerous connotations of a popular urban legend told to disobedient children just before bedtime. Scary, dangerous connotations with more than enough potentially painful outcomes to warrant second, then third thoughts.

Surprisingly, however, these sweat-inducing connotations were actually _positive things_. They were proof that there something being cultivated that not every individual could boast of possessing: talent. A rare commodity that could neither be bought nor sold, unless the personages that possessed it were already in the possession of another, but that was neither here-nor-there. Certainly not to those participating in the dance, at any rate. Nor were they ones to boast about it either, because it simply wasn't within their nature to do so. They were aware that they possessed a talent, of course, as those around them seemed to take great pleasure in pointing it out to them. They simply preferred to keep quiet about it, keep it subtly tucked out of sight to avoid becoming the subjects of intense scrutiny and expectation.

The dance continued, a swish of feet over soft grass, the slow exhalation of breath, the rustle of fabric as the accompanying orchestra built up to yet another crescendo. Then, at the critical moment, two blades met like the crashing of a great cymbal. They stayed locked for no more than a second, scraping apart when the dancers span away from each other to give themselves some distance, and then they met again from a different angle. One blade came from the top right, slashing down with speed akin to that of a loosed arrow, whilst the other came up from the centre to block it, angling at the last moment to send the aggressor away to the side. Then, seizing the moment of distraction that this created, the formerly defensive blade shifted, becoming predatorial, and struck with all the conviction of a starved wolf. It arched downwards in a tightly controlled curve from its previous, defensive position above the wielder's head towards the back of their target's neck, whom had to twist sharply and batt the blow away with a surprising lack of finesse.

Recovering quickly, Jūshirō shifted his stance so that he was aligned behind his sword and thrust it forwards towards Ichigo's mid-section from nearly point-blank range. Ichigo, having already brought his sword back from the side to which it had been knocked, twisted sharply to the side in a swirling tornado of robes to avoid the strike. He barely had time to reorient himself before he was forced to jump backwards and away from the horizontal cut Jūshirō followed up with, but quickly capitalised on the opening his friend had left for him and jumped back in with a straight, vertical cut that started life behind his back and looped over his head towards Jūshirō's shoulder.

In terms of positioning, Jūshirō knew that he was at a distinct disadvantage at this stage. He had been crouched low at the start of his thrust, and stayed that way through his follow-up to try and get underneath Ichigo's line of sight. Now, he was stuck beneath Ichigo's crushing strength, like a piece of red-hot metal waiting to be shaped by the smith's hammer, and could only see one way of escaping.

Jūshirō dropped his sword hand to the ground, trapping the hilt between that hand and the grass, and swept out with his legs in a semi-circle; feeling the subsequent, painful crash as he caught Ichigo's own legs. The orange-haired male inhaled sharply, the only indication of his surprise, when his legs were removed from beneath him, and could only tuck his shoulder in and roll with the impact when the ground rushed up to meet him. He sprung back up quickly, parrying Jūshirō's pressing strike to avoid having his stomach torn open in the process, then brought his sword around towards his friend's neck. Of course, the blow was avoided with the grace of a cat in the dark of the midnight hour, Jūshirō was far too good to fall for something so obvious.

It was strange, Ichigo mused, that he was still identifying Jūshirō as 'friend' whilst they were trading blows that, by all rights, should be lethal. They didn't hold back when they sparred, despite doing so nearly every day. It was routine to them. Indeed: it was a sort of therapeutic process, ideal for getting rid of any extraneous stresses and frustrations that might have built up during the day with someone they _knew_ could take the hits confidently. Every day, for anywhere from one to three hours, the two of them would spar in the vast expanses of the southern fields, where they knew they wouldn't be disturbed unless it was a matter of dire importance. They would meet either in the early evening, or in the very early morning under the light of the moon, and would go for a maximum of three hours until stopping. Never any more, Ichigo would got concerned about the state of Jūshirō's health if they fought for any longer, much to the chagrin of the white-haired male. Although, in complete fairness to Ichigo, Jūshirō's breathing would tend to get laboured after three hours, he would be a little less steady on his feet and would lose the drive that powered his strikes. It was these little things that added together to make 'danger' in Ichigo's mind, because they went about sparring in such a way that one mistake could make for a serious injury. Better that they stopped before it got that far, and knock Jūshirō's pride a little, than stop later because one of them was bleeding from the chest.

So far on that day, they had been sparring from just over two hours. The situation at this stage was as it usually was, there was no clear advantage to either of them. Instead, one of them would occasionally gain something akin to 'the upper hand' only to lose it through some skilled manoeuvring on the part of their opponent. Now and again, one of them would try something risky, only to have it backfire and land them squarely on the back-foot, forcing them to fight harder than normal to regain what traction they had lost in the fight. It was a constant trade. Neither one of them held any sort of advantage for any length of time, and neither one of them allowed themselves to remain at a disadvantage for long.

Just as they were best friends, they were fiercely competitive with one another.

Ever since Ichigo's exponential growth rate had been revealed, Jūshirō had been pushing himself to keep up. Of course, he had the theoretical head-start, but whatever force was pushing Ichigo's ability further had negated much of his hard-won experience, accumulated over years of training, within a few months. Thankfully, Ichigo's unexplainable growth had petered out to a more normal level after a while, much like a growth spurt, and Jūshirō could finally breathe easy with the knowledge that Ichigo wouldn't outdo him in terms of skill just yet. That didn't mean he was going to get complacent, _oh no_ , but it did mean that some of the pressure was alleviated.

The pair continued to trade blows for another half an hour, movements as violent as a tsunami and yet as soft as a summer breeze. The naked eye would struggle to keep track of every strike, and thus would be hard pressed to tell that the two of them were locked in a fierce stalemate. Neither of them gaining any real ground. That they were constantly moving made no difference, because how much ground one had was a measure of _advantage_ , in this case. It was a measure of how much pressure you could exert on your opponent, how far onto the back foot they were, how many mistakes they made.

You could usually only tell you had the advantage when your opponent slipped, made a very bad error, or actually _said_ …

"Yield."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at Jūshirō, whom was entirely unfazed by the fact that his sword hovered a hair's-breadth above his neck. "You sure?"

"Yes. Yield."

"You can get out of this really easily, Jū…"

An exhasperated sigh. "Oh? And how would I go about doing that?"

Ichigo grinned. "You could try sweeping my legs again, for one."

Jūshirō snorted in response. "It hurt more than enough the first time, thank you. It was like kicking a tree."

Ichigo's grin gained not even the _barest_ hint of repentance, nor did he look the least bit abashed or sheepish, he simply removed his sword from its penitentiary position and slid it home inside its leather sheath. Once Jūshirō's own blade was safely housed, the two of them made their way towards the solitary tree that stood, isolated and alone like a night-watchman, at the centre of nowhere. Beneath the tree's shadow, a splash of colour brightened up the gloom, a touch of pink that paid tribute to the loss of the old wood's blooms. As the two of them approached, a hand withdrew from within the pink folds that stained the tranquillity of the evening, pushing the ever-present straw hat upwards to reveal a pair of mischievous, fiercely intelligent grey eyes.

"That was pretty impressive, Ichi-chan." Drawled Shunsui, the genuine compliment nearly lost within the depths of his teasing tone. Ichigo ignored the lacklustre attempt to rile him up, knowing now that Shunsui didn't mean anything by it, really, but still allowed the derisive noise that was building up at the back of his throat passage into the open air.

"Whatever." Said he, crossing his arms for good measure. It was an act now, mostly, as the initial distrust that had existed between them upon had largely faded to nothingness after the fifth day of their acquaintance. Jūshirō was the main reason for this, of course, as neither of his friends wished to upset him; whatever quarrels they may have had were insignificant in comparison to Jūshirō's happiness.

Not that it ever stopped Shunsui from whining whenever Ichigo blew off his thickly veiled compliments, treating them instead as the insults or sarcastic jests that they were presented to be.

"Ichi-chan should learn to take a compliment…" Shunsui whined, staying true to form. The over-dramatic pouting that accompanied the statement ruined whatever, wafer thin, chance it had of being taken seriously.

Ichigo levelled his best 'incredulous scowl' at Shunsui. "I'll take compliments from people I respect."

"So cold!"

Jūshirō's exasperated sigh cut off any further rapport, such was the strain placed upon the fondness of the expression. Not that the strain was real.

Well, it wasn't _entirely_ unreal. Some of it must have been otherwise it wouldn't have been so convincing, it was certainly enough to stop the other two from continuing their rapid descent into the depths of the deep, dark cave known as 'name-calling'. Kami forbid. It took forever to drag them back out of it again.

This faux friction had come about at some point during the fabled fifth day of them being together, likely at the point Ichigo and Shunsui began to realise that there was no reason to be weary of each-other. Jūshirō trusted them both, implicitly it seemed, and that was enough to make them both realise that the other was _probably_ an individual of good enough character to not take advantage of the noble heir. Granted, Ichigo himself was far more suspect than Shunsui, given his background, but even the pink-clad slack-off had to admit that such machinations would likely be contradictory to Ichigo's character. As for Ichigo's opinions of Shunsui, he had decided that something about the noble must have been redeeming, otherwise Jūshirō wouldn't keep him around.

Although, Ichigo had to wonder at whether Jūshirō was the type of person to cast _anyone_ off, whether they were of good character or not.

Regardless, Shunsui had been within the palace of Jūshirō's confidence for a great many years, if the situation was what Ichigo perceived it to be, and thus it was a given that Shunsui was a man to be trusted. Although there was, indisputably, something about the man whom hid beneath an obscenely large hat that hinted at something _more_. Perhaps it was the silvery sheen of intelligence that lurked in the depths of his deep, grey eyes. Or, possibly, it was the way that Shunsui could perceive the feelings of both Jūshirō and, slightly alarmingly, Ichigo without any sort of prompting; as if the air the they breathed was tinged with their underlying emotions. Upon thought, Ichigo would always conclude that it was both of those things, and more besides, that hid behind the façade of idiocy Shunsui so casually threw up. It was somewhat intriguing, and -also- completely terrifying all at once; because if Shunsui could hide _that much_ behind the 'loveable moron' exterior, what else could be lurking within the shadows of his persona?

Ichigo tried not to dwell on it much, and the week and a half that Shunsui had spent at the Ukitake house had been that much more pleasant for it. Of course, there was still the reoccurring dream to worry about, but Ichigo had never been one to get too worked up over such things. That's not to say he wasn't _concerned_ , when one starts to question their own sanity it could probably be considered _healthy_ to worry a little bit. He just preferred not to let it get to him.

It wasn't as if there was even much to think _about_. The dream was always the same, hence 'reoccurring'. The ocean of ashen white sand he always found himself stranded in would, seemingly, whip itself up into a tempest of tumultuous waves of a size that was utterly baffling, considering the nature of the material they were composed of. All the while, the voice that presided over the ceaseless pandemonium spoke in hushed, muffled tones that carried with them dubious motives and even more doubtful intentions. It never varied in volume, always remaining just _barely_ audible over the cacophonous noise. Ichigo found himself doubting that it was there at all sometimes, even whilst it was still uttering its repetitive mantra.

Which was concerning in-and-of itself, because it knew his name. His given name.

Not that it would have made him any less uneasy if it knew his family name. In fact, that might have been worse, considering that he himself did not know of the Kurosaki family beyond the fact that he was likely a member of it.

Of course, he had to remember that this was a being of his own creation. A being with origins in the skunk-works that sat within the furthest reaches of the darkest recesses of his mind. The fact that it called him by name was unnerving because...he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was because he couldn't see its face?

Perhaps it was because, whenever it called his name, he felt a stirring deep within him, as if his soul was the chorus that accompanied the call. It wasn't just a regular stirring, either; not like a rogue bowl movement or the feeling of goose-bumps trailing arctic pinpricks up one's arm. No, this stirring could only be described as _power_.

It was like a bottomless, clear lake of liquid _potential_. Ichigo could not see it, nor was it something that he felt able to reach out and touch in his mind's eye, but he could _feel it_. Like an imposing presence hovering on the very periphery of his vision, it was steadfast, comforting, and _utterly terrifying_ all at the same time. Never-before had Ichigo experienced such paradoxical emotions, he wanted to reach out and grasp the lake and simultaneously get as far away from it as possible, then build a wall between him and it for good measure.

It was a tiring conundrum, and was the main reason he felt so utterly drained upon blinking the sands of his mind away in favour of the calm rationality of the waking world.

Jūshirō had definitely noticed the increased weight of his fatigue, characterised by the noticeable slump in his shoulders and the way his eyelids seemed to be made of lead, but had refrained from commenting. Well, he hadn't commented _out loud_ , instead opting to send Ichigo looks that conveyed a thousand silent-yet-glaring concerns. Still, he hadn't openly confronted Ichigo about it yet, and for that Ichigo was more than a little grateful. He wasn't sure he'd be able to articulate his problem even if he _did_ want to, which made it all that much harder when he didn't. So, he bottled it up, brushing Jūshirō's quiet-yet-firm offer of friendly support away in favour of keeping the bottle at arm's length and refusing to pop the cork. If he kept the cork in the bottle, the contents couldn't come out, and he wouldn't have to deal with the rancid, liquid-fear that the voice and swirling sand drove into the core of his being every night like the flag of a conquering nation.

Thankfully, he was good enough at ignoring his problems to do his job at the usual standard of diligent lackadaisicalness. One could only stare at the same patch of sky, or the same spot of dirt amongst the larger expanse of slightly less eye-catching dirt, for so long before one's mind started to wander. Especially when one's mind had far more pressing things to worry over, such as its own sanity. Not that Ichigo was concerned, not at all: any concern he had about the dreams was in the same bottle as the fear, the one held at arm's length that he would stubbornly refuse to admit existed even if it was a tangible thing that someone could point at ask questions about.

Regardless of the denial of his own denial, he operated during his working hours much like how he would usually, and could continue interacting with Jūshirō as if nothing was going on at all.

Unfortunately, this did not account for Shunsui.

Later that evening, after they'd eaten a generous dinner in the pavilion which overlooked the Western Sakura fields, Jūshirō had announced that he was turning in for the night. Ichigo had frowned, for it was much earlier than the time that they usually went their separate ways, but had refrained from commenting. Everyone present knew the reason, and everyone knew it was best that Jūshirō take any flare in his condition lying down rather than standing up- due to how far away the ground was for someone of his height. A quick glance at Shunsui told Ichigo that he'd been correct not to press, as the hat-clad man was staring straight ahead over the sea of nature with a far-away sort of smile, seemingly unconcerned by the developments.

So Jūshirō departed without much fanfare, only receiving one, mildly concerned look from Ichigo and a sort of friendly-yet-dismissive wave from Shunsui that would have offended _anyone_ else. This meant that Ichigo and Shunsui were now alone, at a time which would usually see all three of them together for quite some time yet -the night being young and offering much. Not that it made much difference, some nights, whether Jūshirō was there or not. Silence had a way of prevailing when one was confronted with views such as the one before the two of them now, or the one to be beheld at the front of the house. Even the vast expanse of the southern fields had an abstract way of inspiring silent reverence, likely because of how far they stretched without interruption. There were no hills, very few trees, and only one building sitting at the very far end. Such emptiness was guaranteed to have some form of impact.

Even now, when they sat facing the western gardens, the southern fields were an imposing presence at the corner of their periphery. Refusing to be ignored, and determined to remind all within range of its scope. Ichigo had never-before encountered an obnoxious field, but he had a strong feeling that this one ticked all the correct boxes. Of course, his urge to label a large body of grass (with the occasional tree) as 'obnoxious' might have been, somewhat, down to the fact that he was alone with Shunsui -who had yet to say anything. Indeed, it felt as if the man beneath the hat was working his way around to broaching some form of topic, which was discernible by some strange taint to the air that Ichigo was suddenly hyper-aware of. The taint also informed him that, whatever it was that Shunsui wished to talk about, it was not going to be a topic that enthused him.

They sat in a confused sort of silence for a long while, one that drifted uneasily between comfortable and awkward, settling on one or the other for only the briefest of moments before becoming unsure and switching yet again. Which served only to make the silence more awkward, ironically. It also meant that Ichigo had no idea how to sit. Should he slouch? Slouch and give Shunsui the impression that his guard was down? Or should he sit upright, prepared and ready for whatever uncomfortable conversation was inevitably coming his way. The silence always switched sides again just before he could decide, and so he was left with a very sore behind and a twitchy leg -rather than any useful, actionable solution.

Then, Shunsui sighed and tilted his hat down to shadow his eyes in a manner that created a greater sense of foreboding than one of Sabūrō's loathed 'dinner invitations'. The greater noble clans only invited him to such functions when they had something unpleasant to discuss, it was said.

"So…when're you going to tell him?" Shunsui asked, his head tilted at such an angle that suggested he was regarding Ichigo from beneath the shade of the headwear.

Ichigo bristled unconsciously, tensing in the shoulders and around the jaw. "The hell are you talking about?" The response came out in a far more confrontational manner than he'd intended it to, but the filter between his brain and his mouth had slipped up at a very crucial moment. Instantly, Ichigo knew he'd doomed himself. The fact that he'd gotten defensive proved, without doubt, that there was something wrong. A fact that Shunsui picked up on just as quickly as Ichigo realised his mistake.

"Whatever it is that's got you so wound up, Berry-chan."

Ichigo risked a glance towards Shunsui, whom was still regarding him from beneath the hat with a sort of neutrality that suggested he wasn't going to judge Ichigo for his eventual answer, but reserved the right to call him out for being stupid.

He sighed bitterly, the air coming out of his mouth cold and harsh. "Why should I?" said he, simply. Yet so many concerns and reservations coiled around the simple question like constricting serpents, squeezing the life out of any intention he may have had to tell Jūshirō anything with extreme prejudice.

The hat opposing him was lifted to reveal one, incredulous, grey eye set above a genial smile. "My, my, Berry-chan! So defensive!" He chuckled fearlessly in the face of Ichigo's deepening glower, then continued with a slightly more serious tone. "He's more than a little concerned, you know."

"He's got enough to worry about already." Ichigo shot back, without hesitation. "Anyway, there's nothing to be concerned about. I'm fine."

Shunsui hummed knowingly, then paused -seemingly to make sure his approach was constructed properly. "You don't sound too sure about that, Berry-chan…" said he, taking his all-seeing eye off Ichigo and leaning back on his elbows to gaze up at the sky.

Ichigo opened his mouth the retort, something to defend himself against the onslaught of Shunsui's startling perceptiveness, but he knew he'd been beaten. There was more than one way for the rancid liquid to come out of the bottle after-all, the cracks in the glass were testament to that fact, and he knew he couldn't keep up a stern front and ignore it forever.

There was another silence, this time firmly settled within the boundaries of 'awkward'. It continued for a few minutes, until Shunsui broke it again with his gravely, dangerously-wise-for-someone-his-age voice. "Not telling him just gives him more to worry about, I think. Jū-chan's like that." Said he, by way of explanation. "It's best to just get it out the way, so he knows what he's worrying about. Otherwise he just worries about everything."

Ichigo made a noise that was somewhere between understanding and alarmed. Shunsui chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Berry-chan! It doesn't make him ill or anything! It just makes him lose sleep!" Ichigo made another noise, decisively alarmed this time, and more strangled than the first. Of course, Shunsui descended into laughter at his expense, not bothering to point out that Ichigo's discomfort was simply the butt of his humorous conjecture. He had no way of knowing for certain whether Jūshirō lost sleep over troubles concerning his friends, he just thought that the white-haired male looked a little less alert as of late, more withdrawn and introspective. Of course, the frequent glances directed at Ichigo had something to do with his conclusions, but Ichigo himself didn't need to know that. Shunsui had already gotten enough entertainment out of this.

"Shut up!" yelled Ichigo, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes as it became apparent that Shunsui was just messing around at his expense. "They're just some stupid dreams anyway…it's not like I'm ill or something…"

He pretended not to notice how quickly Shunsui stopped laughing.

"Besides" he pressed on, "He's got stuff to worry about already. I'll just tell him the heat's making it hard to sleep."

Shunsui didn't comment on this plan, simply humming a distracted agreement, then falling into a contemplative silence that made Ichigo feel as if he were intruding on something personal and intimate. This feeling only intensified as the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes multiplied into the tens. Eventually Ichigo just made his excuses and left for his room in the barracks, to get as much uninterrupted sleep as he possibly could in the hopes of being more awake for the coming day. He therefore didn't know that Shunsui remained on the porch of the pavilion for some hours afterwards, contemplating his own, very similar hauntings.

* * *

It took three days, and three restless nights plagued with recurring dreams, for Ichigo to work his way around to talking with Jūshirō. It wasn't a matter of courage, he _was not_ afraid of these dreams, he just didn't want to bother Jūshirō when he had more important things to be doing. Plus, Shunsui was there, and nobody could say for sure when the two of them would next get the opportunity to meet. Ichigo didn't want to monotonise his friend for any length of time, with that in mind. It wouldn't be fair. So, instead, he waited until Shunsui decided that he wanted to take a stroll around town by himself -for a change- before he took Jūshirō to one side.

He'd phrased his request to talk innocently enough, no intones to it that might suggest that he was about to lay upon Jūshirō his deepest troubles. However, it seemed that Jūshirō had seen right through him, because his friend had taken on a serious expression as soon as the query had left his mouth. Apparently, he'd been expecting this.

Without prompting, nor comment, Jūshirō led him towards the Western Sakura fields, then down the stepped embankment. It was that particular time of day, when the afternoon edged its way slowly into evening and the ebbing sun cast strange, elongated shadows using the trees, as if playing with them. Ichigo had never been here at this time before, having never had the chance for various reasons, but now he was left in a curious state somewhere between wishing he _had_ found the time, and wishing he had not. For him, this area filled with ponds and tall, thick tree-trunks was a haven of peace and tranquillity. It always set him at ease, whatever mood he had been in, and allowed him to think upon what had placed him in such a state that required the solace of trees to soothe him.

Now, the trees offered none of their usual quiet support. They were _alive_.

Their shadows danced to the rhythm of the setting sun, wavering and shifting; never for a moment standing entirely still. Perpetually in motion. In fact, the entire field was in motion. The breeze, wafting softly through the branches, pushing them to the side as if making way for a giant to pass between them. The ripples on the water signifying the subtle presence of the koi, turning tumultuously beneath the surface, dancing to the same rhythm that trees were swaying to. Ichigo was struck with a sense of _motion_ , but more than that: he felt as if he were witnessing motion that had been occurring since times long past. Something about those elongated, shifting shadows made the surroundings feel _ancient_ , mystical, and eerie.

They stopped on the bridge, the one on which they had that first heart-to-heart talk all those months ago, and lent against the railing. Beneath their feet, the koi were dancing in elegant, swirling patterns of innocent joviality -proving that they remained unaffected by the sudden sombreness of their surroundings. Blissfully ignorant of any sense that the area surrounding their habitat was engaged in a nightly, almost ritualistic transformation into something unfamiliar and _foreign_. Unnerving and unsettling every-other living thing in its presence. Ichigo almost wished he could join them, somehow he knew that this grove would never quite be the same for him again.

They stood in silence for a while, just watching the koi play about them. It wasn't an awkward silence, with them it never was, but it was ever-so-slightly tense; loaded. There was a certain expectation placed upon this upcoming conversation. An expectation for Ichigo to divulge all that troubled him, and for Jūshirō to listen whilst reserving any judgement. That meant, of course, that Ichigo had to initiate the dialogue, because Jūshirō couldn't be receptive without anything to receive, but his resolve to burden his friend had been weak to begin with. Within this isolated atmosphere, with so much expectation placed on him to talk, he was faced with the sudden desire to present a bluff and get out of it. To wait until a time at which he _knew_ , with a hundred-percent certainty, that this was what he wanted to do. Knew that he couldn't, simply, move all of his pent-up emotion to a different bottle made of stronger glass, then throw it into a deep pit that he would dig within his mind-scape for the express purpose of storing it.

Just as he was opening his mouth to present a bluff, so that he could act on this solution, he was surprised by the intense gaze of Jūshirō -whom then proceeded to defy expectation and speak first.

"What are yours like?"

Ichigo faltered. "My what?"

"Your dreams. I assume that is what's keeping you awake all night?" Said Jūshirō, masking a nervous eyebrow with incredulity. Despite that latent nervousness, which even Ichigo had a hard time picking up, Jūshirō spoke with a conviction that was backed up by the steadfast resolution in his expression. Ichigo gaped openly. Jūshirō appeared to be trying very hard not to show any signs of faltering, to meet Ichigo's eyes without backing down.

Ichigo, knowing that there was no escaping it now, let out a deep and steadying breath. "How'd you know?"

"Experience." Jūshirō's smile was strained, "I knew what to look for. Although, I did need Shunsui to confirm it for me, but I suppose that was just wistfulness on my part."

Ichigo had tensed slightly at Jūshirō's simple explanation. He had made the connections necessary to come to the conclusions that he assumed Jūshirō wanted him to come to, and he wasn't sure what to feel about them.

He sighed, lowering his head to glare at the koi reproachfully; wishing he could be as carefree as they in that moment. "Guess that means you guys get them too, right?"

"Yes." A small, reluctant smile, "They're not particularly relaxing, are they?" The question was rhetorical, Ichigo knew full well that the dreams were less than peaceful.

There was a moment of silence, the lull giving Ichigo the time to briefly reflect on what had transpired, before Jūshirō decided to speak again. "It was scary, the first time. I 'woke up' in a garden, of sorts, deep in a forest in the middle of a rainstorm. It was loud, of course, and I was extremely disorientated, but there was nowhere nearby to shelter from the storm. I just had to lie beneath a tree and wait for it to all be over, which took hours -it felt like. Time works differently in there. I must have been underneath that tree for hours, because the rainclouds seemed to stretch on forever when I first arrived, but when I woke up it was barely two hours later than when I went to sleep.

"Eventually, I learned that I could walk around the garden at leisure, and found an old house to shelter in. I can wait out the storms in there, even though it's old and run-down like everything else." He shrugged, looking extremely _old_ all of a sudden, as if the sleepless nights were coming back to haunt him all at once.

Ichigo remained silent for a time, even as Jūshirō began to fidget slightly, collecting his thoughts. "It's just sand." Said he, blurting it out as if there had been a pressure building up behind it for some time, and it had now just erupted outward.

"Sand? There's nothing else?"

He shook his head. "It's just a big, flat desert with nothing in it. You can see for miles…which is pretty crazy, come to think of it. Then the wind gets up and turns everything into a kinda sand-tornado, then I wake up." He shrugged, "It's not like it's a big deal or anything."

Jūshirō seemed to consider him for a moment, weighing the amount of truth that he could hear to figure out whether it weight half, or a quarter of what it should have weighed. He then asked the question Ichigo _really_ didn't want to answer. "Do you hear any voices?"

"N…" the lie died on his lips. Surely, if Jūshirō was asking…

"Yeah. Just keeps whispering my name over and over, sounds like a whisper -at least. With all the sand flying around they might be screaming for all I know. Then it asks if I can hear them. Doesn't matter how much I yell at 'em, though, they can't hear me. Makes it kinda pointless."

His friend nodded, expression serious. "I experience something very similar. The voice is especially strong when I'm in the house, but that's likely because the weather isn't drowning it out. I tried calling out to it at first, but it seems that there's something preventing it from hearing me."

"Maybe…whatever's letting us hear them doesn't work two ways?" Ichigo mused, scowling down towards the pool in thought. It made no sense to him, surely if he could hear the voice then the voice should have been able to hear him. That's just how it was. How the world _worked_. It was frustrating that the dream, not only defied his attempts to understand it, but also defied his deeply ingrained sense of logic. What should be, and what shouldn't.

Jūshirō hummed thoughtfully, casting his own, contemplative eyes down towards the pond and the fish that swum lazily backwards and forwards beneath the surface. "Perhaps." He said no more on the subject, letting the matter drop like the heavy weight that it was. Ichigo had to admit, it felt lighter now. It wasn't a big secret that, if revealed, could call into question his sanity, his fitness to work. It felt manageable, almost. He found that he didn't need the bottle anymore, and allowed it to shatter within his grasp -only to find that the contents were no-longer there.

He felt stupid for ever thinking that it would have been better to keep everything within the bottle, stupid and naïve. The weight of such a burden would have crushed him eventually, given that Jūshirō looked so tired of it when _he_ had the benefit of Shunsui's confidence on the matter. If he had tried to weather it alone, it would have been too much. He was extremely grateful for the chance to talk about it, to get it all out of his system -to know that he wasn't alone in this. Support wasn't a sign of weakness, he supposed.

Shortly thereafter, they both began to walk back towards the house -on the agreement that they shouldn't neglect Shunsui any longer for fear of pouting. The evening had well and truly drawn in now, and the eerie shadows had passed and allowed the light of the moon to illuminate the gardens as it usually did. The pale glow made the colours surprisingly vivid, and they continued to distinguish themselves from one another even in the low light- seeming to lap up whatever brightness they could and reflecting it back outwards into the space surrounding them. Ichigo thought they were doing a remarkable job of lighting the various paths around the Ukitake manor, despite their nature as flowers.

His mind was, however, largely elsewhere. From what Jūshirō had already told him, he felt safe in the assumption that Shunsui experienced these dreams, or at least ones of a similar nature, as well. With such a revelation, and with a rudimentary knowledge of what Jūshirō's were like, he couldn't help but wonder what Shunsui's were like. He sincerely doubted that he would ever come anywhere close to the truth in these wonderings of his, considering that these dreams seemed to not base themselves off character traits or any such _obvious_ things. He also doubted that Shunsui would be of a mind to divulge the nature of his experiences of his own volition, such was the state of their current relationship. Had there positions been reversed, Ichigo was absolutely sure the he would refrain from describing the inner workings of his mind to someone he'd just met. Not everyone could be as trusting as Jūshirō, after all. His wonderings were more of an exercise to keep his mind ticking over, so that the knowledge that he wasn't alone in this could sink in all the better.

So far, it was still fairly unbelievable.

Eventually, the two of them managed to locate Shunsui. He was lounging around in one of the family rooms with an ease of gait that belayed any notion that he had been concerned about the conversation that had taken his companions over two hours to complete.

"My, my" said he, a twinkle in his eye that was fully on display without his signature hat. "That took some time…nothing I should know about, is there?" Jūshirō groaned, dragging a hand down his face in a manner unbecoming of a noble such as he. Ichigo, meanwhile, just looked flummoxed.

"What?" he sent Shunsui an irritated scowl when the kimono-garbed man started to chuckle, then sent Jūshirō a questioning glance when the other noble kept his hand firmly placed over his eyes and sighed again, loudly.

Shunsui turned to Ichigo with a remarkably restrained expression. "I'm asking, Berry-chan, if-"

"Don't, Shunsui!" Jūshirō promptly cut his friend off, removing the hand from his eyes to better reveal a look that promised retribution if that sentence was completed.

"Ah! Don't be like that, Jū-chan! I'm just looking out for you!"

"Looking out for me by making a joke at my expense?"

"So cruel!"

Ichigo watched the exchange with an increasingly lost expression. "What?" the utterance exploded from his mouth with enough confusion behind it to cease any further shenanigans. It didn't stop Shunsui from breaking down into a fit of giggles once again, under the scathing glare of his oldest friend, however. It was at this point that Ichigo decided that this was an _in-joke_ , and he most certainly was not in on it.

"Really, Ichigo, don't concern yourself with it. It's just a joke that I would _prefer_ be forgotten about." Said Jūshirō, directing a pointed glare in the general direction of Shunsui.

The man in question shrugged in a 'what can you do?' kind of fashion. "Man, that's too bad. I've got a pretty good memory for funny stuff."

The sigh that escaped Jūshirō sounded exceedingly tired. "Yes, unfortunately."

* * *

Three days later, Shunsui left. There wasn't any ceremony, nor were there any warm goodbyes filled with promises to 'not to leave it so long this time' and to 'keep in touch'. There was simply a brief, brotherly embrace between Jūshirō and Shunsui, complete with backslapping, then Shunsui directed a meaningful look towards Ichigo that was accented with an equally meaningful inclination of the head. The two of them hadn't broached the subject of Ichigo's dreams, and as far as he knew Jūshirō hadn't divulged any element of their conversation to Shunsui either; but that didn't change the fact that he knew.

Frankly, if Ichigo had been of the same mind about Shunsui as he had been when they had first met, he would not have been comfortable with the idea that Shunsui knew. However, this was no longer the case. They had come to a mutual understanding over the course of these couple of weeks, and with that mutual understanding had come a sort of tentative friendship -a framework for building upon. It was a touch unstable, and it wavered in even the slightest breeze, but it was there. It was optimistic, as well, because they had established some common ground during the frequent occasions that Jūshirō brought them together in the early evenings. That they could only refuse such encounters on pain of receiving one of Jūshirō's 'looks' was an extraneous factor. They _had_ managed to discover, around the knee rattling fear of Jūshirō's pent up wrath, that they shared a mutual admiration of nature, as well as a liking for poetry. Ichigo had only managed to find the time to read a select few of Jūshirō's own books, but he had enjoyed all of them so far. More than that, he just _knew_ that he liked poetry -like it was hard-wired into his system. It was nice to find common ground over something so confusing.

Despite all of this, Ichigo wasn't about to delude himself, they weren't close. Not anywhere near it.

No. They were friends; nothing more, nothing less. Ichigo was happy with that, for now at least. He could also say, with a degree of certainty, that Jūshirō was happy with this outcome as well.

Considering the circumstances, Ichigo did not find himself surprised to observe that his friend looked significantly more cheerful during the following weeks. Lighter, so to speak. As if the, very real, concern that two of his friends wouldn't get along weighed so heavily on him that it stooped him part way over, and made him increasingly ill. He would have, in all likelihood, have had to either divide his time between them, or choose one to favour over the other.

Ichigo would have loved to say Shunsui and himself were grown-up enough to get along with people that they didn't necessarily _like_ , but he couldn't. He was far too stubborn and straightforward to put forward such an act, it would have been dishonest as well -something that Ichigo had a strong dislike for. To pretend around Shunsui would have been a _lie_ , and he simply refused to lie to, not only Shunsui, but Jūshirō as well. Not that Jūshirō would have fallen for it, because the other reason that Ichigo would not have tried to put up an act around Shunsui was due to his utter failing as an actor. He would have been rumbled in a heartbeat.

Shunsui, on the other hand, appeared to be too nervous around people he didn't -or felt that he couldn't- trust, or those that he felt he could never come to trust. He was extremely cautious around such people, defensive almost. He used a façade -masterfully crafted- to keep people _out_ , prevent them from seeing the core fabric of his being; his true personality. Thus, Ichigo didn't _really_ know Shunsui at all, which was detrimental to any goal of the two of them becoming close. It would, therefore, be an exercise in patience on all their parts, especially Jūshirō -but he was the most patient of them all. It wouldn't be a problem for him at all.

The situation in which they would have to discover how accurate Ichigo's prediction on their maturity had been, thankfully, hadn't arisen. Thus, the two of them had reached their friendly understanding. Therefore, Shunsui's visit had concluded on a positive _and_ constructive note, with all of them feeling slightly relieved that nothing untoward had occurred, and that they had all maintained their sanity.

Somewhat less-pleasantly, in the weeks and months since Shunsui's departure, Ichigo's dreams intensified. They came much more frequently, at least every other night rather than every fourth or so as they had done previously, and -on top of that- they lasted for longer. Ichigo had almost immediately gone to Jūshirō when this sudden change occurred, and his friend had theorised that Ichigo becoming more accustomed to the dream -less wound up and more confident that the dream wasn't _actually_ going to harm him- was the route cause. That would have been a relief, if that meant Ichigo hadn't had to endure what was still the _most confusing_ situation that he had ever been subjected to for even longer than he had ever had to before. Acclimatisation be damned, Ichigo had declared, and subsequently wished to become _less_ confident about these dreams.

A world first, surely.

Sadly, he would have to be excused for not being overjoyed at this development and looking for any potential fixes.

Asides from this, his life remained entirely unremarkable for the next few weeks, months, and years. He continued to watch empty spaces, roads, and fields for a living. Always coming to wonder, at some point during each day, if it were _actually_ possible for someone to die of boredom -and whether it would be an annoyance or a relief at this stage. He continued to spar with Jūshirō in the early evenings before dinner, then in the mornings -just before lunch- once his shifts were swapped around so he worked the night shift.

As a result, his swordsmanship continued to improve, even though it felt as if the skills and the motions were just _coming back to him_ ; like retrieved muscle memories. He also noticed a marked improvement in how long the two of them could spar for, how they pushed against the three hour mark more frequently and finished the sessions feeling that they could keep going for even longer. Jūshirō was less effected by his illness during these hours than he been previously, Ichigo noticed. He looked steadier and less desperate for breath, more conditioned and toned. He only noticed on reflection, indicating that it was happening gradually, but it was still impressive. More than a little relieving, as well.

Other than that, he noticed that he himself felt stronger, somehow. It wasn't anything particularly remarkable, he couldn't uproot trees or level mountains, or anything fanciful like that. He just felt that his sword was a lot lighter in his grip, and that he didn't feel so heavy on his feet anymore. More poised, a little more precise.

Able to stand and look at nothing for longer periods of time without wondering at the intricacies involved in dying of boredom.

Now _that_ was true strength.

As the years began to slowly multiply, these changes became more and more pronounced. Jūshirō was even less troubled by illness, lighter on his feet, stronger in the arms, and was noticeably less wasteful in his movements. Ichigo became markedly stronger, his swings were enough to make bones rattle upon impact, whilst he could shrug off some of the strongest attacks like they were nothing. He was quicker too, much quicker than he used to be. Part of this was down to extensive sparring with -the much swifter- Jūshirō, and partially down to spending long periods of time on his feet. He _had to be quick_ , otherwise those attacks that had every right to be lethal would capitalise on their inherent potential, and do some amount of grievous damage to him. Adversely, Jūshirō used his new found strength to deflect Ichigo's increasingly crushing blows, though still unable to absorb them with solid blocks.

The one time that he had tried to do so had resulted in his sword clattering off of his feet, once his numb fingers had released it from a suddenly-slack grasp. Ichigo had been unbearably apologetic after this incident, insistant that they end their day's sparring there -and very nearly calling it off the next day as well. At this point, he had realised that Jūshirō's patented 'looks' had grown vastly more effective as well. Smiles would never look the same to him again. Ever.

This trend of improvement continued, unhindered, until what Ichigo might have called his 'twentieth birthday', had he -or anyone else- been bothered to mark such a date.

It certainly _would_ be marked from that year forth.

.


End file.
